m 



THE 




POETICAL 


WORKS 


OF 

E o "^ H] '3 :: 


B U E :s' s 



ILL USTRATED. 



NEW YORK: 

E. WOETHINGTON, Publisher, 

1884. 



^:h 



Gift 
W8. HUTCHESOfM 

fSJI'OS 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 



Robert Burns was born on tlie 35th day of January, 1759, in a small 
house about two miles from the town of Ayr, and within a few hundred yards 
of Alio way Church, which his poem of Tarn o' Shanter has rendered immortal. 
The name, v/hich the poet and his brother modernized into Burns, was 
originally Burnes, or Burness. Their father, William Burnes, was the son of 
a farmer in Kincai'dineshire, and had received the education common in Scot- 
land to persons in his condition of life ; he could read and write, and had some 
knowledge of arithmetic. His family having fallen into reduced circuinstances, 
he was compelled to leave his home in his nineteenth year, and turned his steps 
toward the south in quest of a livelihood. He undertook to act as a gardener, 
and shaped his course to Edinburgh, where he Avrought hard when he could 
obtain employment, passing through a variety of difficulties. From Edin- 
burgh William Barnes passed westward into the county of Ayr, where he 
engaged himself as a gardener to the laird of Fairly, with whom he lived two 
years; then changed his service for: that of Crawford of Doonside. At length, 
being desirous of settling in life, lie took a perpetual lease of seven acres of 
land from Dr. Campbell, physician in Ayr, with the view of commencing 
nurseryman and public gardener, and, having built a house upon it with his 
own hands, married in December, 1757, Agnes Brown. The first fruit of this 
marriage was Robert, the subject of these memoirs. Before William Burnes 
had made much progress in preparing his nursery, he was withdrawn from, 
that undertaking by Mr. Ferguson, who purchiised the estate of Doouholm, in 
the immediate neighbourhood, and engaged him as his gardener and overseer, 
and this was his situation when our poet was born. W^hen in the service of 
Mr. Ferguson, he lived in his own house, his wife managing her family, and 
her little dairy, which consisted of two, sometimes of three milch cows ; and 
this state of unambitious content continued till the year 1766. His son Robert 
was sent by him, in his sixth year, to a school in Alloway Miln, about a mile 
distant, taught by a person of the name of Campbell ; but this teacher being in 
a few months appointed master of the workhouse at Ayr, William Burnes, in 
conjunction with some other heads of families, engaged John Murdoch in his 
stead. The education of our poet, and of his brother Gilbert, was in common ; 
and whilst under Mr. Murdoch, they learned to read English tolerably well, 
and to write a little. He also taught them the elements of English grammar, 
in which Robert made some proficiency — a circumstance which had consider- 
able weight in the unfolding of his genius and character ; as he soon became 
remarkable for the fluency and correctness of his expression, and read the few 
books that came in his way with much pleasure and improvement. 

It appears that William Burnes approved himself greatly in the service of 
Mr Ferguson, by his intelligence, industry, and integrity. In consequence of 
this, with a view of promoting his interest, Mr. Ferguson leaied to him the 
farm of Mount Oliphant, in the parish of Ayr ; consisting of upwards of seventy 
»acres (about ninety, English Imperial measure), the rent of which was to bo 
foi-ty pounds annually for the first sis years, and afterwards forty-five pounds. 



6 MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

Mr. Ferguson also lent liini a hundred pounds to assist in stocking tlie farm, to 
"wliicli he removed at Whitsuntide, 1766. But this, in place of being of adA-an- 
tage to William Barnes, as it was intended by his former master, ivas the 
commencement of much anxiety and distress to the whole family, which is 
forcibly described by his son, Gilbert, in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop: 

" Mount Oliphant, the farm my father possessed in the parish of Ayr, is 
almost the very poorest soil I know of in a state of cultivation. A stronger 
Ijroof of this I cannot give, th^n that, notwithstanding the extraordinary rise 
in the value of lands in Scotland, it was, after a considerable sum laid out in 
improving it by the proprietor, let a few ye^rs ago five pounds per annum lowci' 
than the rent paid for it by my father thirty years ago. My father, in conse- 
quence of this, soon came into difficulties, which were increased by the loss oi" 
several of his cattle by accidents and disease. To the buft'etings of misfortune, 
we could only oppose hard labour and the most rigid economy. We lived very 
sparinglyo For several years butcher's meat v^as a stranger in the house, while 
all the members of the family exerted themselves to the utmost of their 
strength, and rather beyond it, in the labours of the farm. My brother, at the 
age of thirteen, assisted in thrashing the crop of corn, and at fifteen w^as the 
principal labourer on the farm, for we had no hired servant, male or female. 
The angaish of mind we felt at our tender years, under these straits and dif- 
ficalties, was very great. To think of our father growing old (for he was now 
above fifty) broken down with the long- continued fatigues of his life, with a 
"wife and live other children, and in a declining state of circumstances, these 
reflections produced in my brother's mind and mine sensations of the deepest 
distress. 1 doubt not but the hard labour and sorrow of this period of his life, 
■was in a great measure the cause of that depression of spirits with which 
Robert v>'as so often afflicted through his whole life afterwards. At this time 
he Avas almost constantly afflicted in the evenings with a dull headache, which, 
at a future period of his life, was exchanged for a palpitation of the heart, and 
a threatening of fainting and suffocation in his bed, in the night-time. 

" By a stipulation in my father's lease, he had a right to throw it up, if he 
thou~ght proper, at the end of every sixth year. He attempted to fix himself in 
a better farm at the end of the first six years, but failing in that attempt, ha 
continued where he was for six years more. He then took the farm of Loch- 
lea, of 130 acres, at the rent of twenty shillings an acre, in the parish of Tar- 
bolton, of Mr, , then a merchant in Ayr, and now (1797) a mer- 
chant at Liverpool. He removed to this farm at Whitsuntide, 1777, and pos- 
sessed it only seven years. No writing had ever been made out of the condi- 
tions of the lease ; a misunderstanding took place respecting them ; the sub- 
jects in dispute were submitted to arbitration, and the decision involved my 
father's affairs in ruin. He lived to know of this decision, but not to see any 
execution in consequence of it. He died on the 13th of February, 1784." 

Of this frugal, industrious, and good man, the following beautiful character 
has been given by Mr. Murdoch: — "He was a tender and affectionate father; 
he took pleasure in leading his. children in the path of virtue; not in driving 
them as some parents do, to the performance of duties to which they them- 
selves are averse. He took care to find fault but very seldom; and therefore, 
when he did rebuke, he Avas listened to Avith a kind of reverential aAve. A 
look of disapprobation Avas felt; a reproof Avas seA^erely so; and a stripe Avith 
the tatcs, even on the skirt of the coat, gave heartfelt pain, produced a loud 
lamentation, and brought forth a flood of tears. 

"He had the art of gaining the esteem and good-Avill of those that Avere la- 
bourers under him. 1 think I never saAv him angry but tAvice: the one time it 
was with, the foreman of the band, for not reaping the field as he was desired; 
and the otlier time it was Avith an old man, for using smutty inuendoes and 
dotibk entendre*. Were every foul-mouthed old mau to receive ^ seasonable 



IMEMOIR OP KOBERT BUKNS. 



clieck in tliis way, it would be to tlie advantage of tlie rising generation. A3 
lie was at no time overbearing to inferiors, be was equally incapable of tliat 
passive, pitiful, paltry spirit, that induces some people to keep booing and boo- 
ing in the presence of a great man. He always treated superiors witli a becom- 
ing respect; but be never gave tlie smallest encouragement to aristocratical arrvo.- 
gance. But I must not pretend to give you a description of all the manly quali- 
ties, the rational and Christian virtues, of the venerable William Burnes. Timo 
would fail me. I shall only add, that he carefully practised every known 
duty, and avoided everything that was criminal ; or, in the apostle's words, 
' Herein did he exercise himself, in living a life void of offence towards God 
and towards men.' Oh for a world of men of such dispositions ! We should 
then have no wars. I have often wished, for the good of mankind, that it 
were as customary to honour and perpetuate the memory of those who excel in 
moral rectitude, as it is to extol what are called heroic actions : then would tho 
mausoleum of the friend of my youth overtop and surpass most of the monu- 
ments 1 see in Westminster Abbey !" 

Under the humble roof of his parents, it appears indeed that our poet had 
great advantages; but his opportunities of information at school were moi-e 
limited as to time than they usually are among his countrymen, in his condi- 
tion of life; and the acquisitions which he made, and the poetical talent which 
he exerted, under the pressure of early and incessant toil, and of inferior, and 
perhaps scanty nutriment, testify at once the extraordinary force and activity 
of his mind. In his frame of body he rose nearly five feet ten inches, and as- 
sumed the proportions that indicate agility as well as strength. In the various 
labours of the farm he excelled all his competitors. Gilbert Burns declares that 
in mowing, the exercise that tries all the muscles most severely, Robert was 
the only man that, at the end of a summer's day, he was ever obliged to ac- 
knowledge as his master. But though our poet gave the powers of his body 
to the labours of the farm, he refused to bestow on them his thoughts or his 
cares. While the ploughshare under his guidance passed through the sward, 
or the grass fell under the sweep of his scythe, he was humming the songs of 
his country, musing on the deeds of ancient valour, or rapt in the illusions of 
Fancy, as her enchantments rose on his view. Happily the Sunday is yet a 
sabbath, on which man and beast rest from their labours. On this day, there- 
fore. Burns could indulge in a freer intercourse with the charms of nature. It 
was his delight to wander alone on the banks of Ayr, whose stream is nov/ immo* 
tal, and to listen to the song of the blackbird at the close of the summer's day. 
But still greater was his pleasure, as he himself informs us, in walking on the 
sheltered side of a wood, in a cloudy winter day, and hearing the storm rave 
among the trees; and more elevated still his delight to ascend some eminence 
during the agitations of nature, to stride along its summit while the lightning 
flashed around him, and, amidst the bowlings of the tempest, to apostro- 
phize the spirit of the storm. Such situations he declares most favorable ta 
devotion — "Rapt in enthusiasm, I seem to ascend towards Him icho walks o:i 
the wings of the icind I" If other proofs were wanting of the character of hio 
genius, this might determine it. The heart of the poet is peculiarly awake to 
every impression of beauty and sublimity; but, with the higher order of poets, 
the beautiful is less attractive than the sublime. 

The gayety of many of Buras' writings, and the lively and even cheerful 
colouring with which he has pourtrayed his own character, may lead some per- 
sons to suppose, that the melancholy which hung over him towards the end of 
his days was not an original part of his constitution. It is not to be doubted, 
indeed, that this melancholy acquired a darker hue in the progress of his life , 
but, independent of his own and of his brother's testimony, evidence is to be 
found among his papers that he was subject very early to those depressions 
of mind, which are perhaps not wholly separable from the sensibility of gemus, 
but which in him rose to an uncommon degree, 



The energy of Burns' mind was not exhausted by his daily labours, the 
eiJusions of his muse, his social pleasures, or his solitary meditations. Soma 
time previous to his engagement as a Has-dresscr, having heard that a debat- 
ing-club had been established in Ayr, he resolved to try hov/ such a meeting 
Avould succeed in the village of Tarbolton. About the end of the year 1780, 
our poet, his brother, and five other young peasants of the neighbourhood, 
formed themselves into a society of this sort, the declared objects of which 
were to relax themselves after toil, to promote sociality and friendship, and to 
improve the mind. The laws and regulations were furnished by Burns. The 
members were to meet after the labours of the day Avere over, once a week, in 
a small public house in the village; where each should oSer his opinion on a 
given question or subject, supporting it by such arguments as he thought 
proper. The debate was to be conducted with order and decorum ; and after it 
was finished, the members were to choose a subject for discussion at the ensu- 
ing meeting. The sum expended by each was not to exceed three-pence; and, 
Avith the humble potation that tiiis could procure, they were to toast 
their miflresses and to cultivate friendship with each other. 

After the family of our bard removed from Tarbolton to the neighbourhood 
of Mauchline, he and his brother were requested to assist in forming a similar 
institution there. The regulations of the club at Mauchline were nearly the 
same as those of the club at Tarbolton; but one laudable alteration was made. 
The fines for non-attendance had at Tarbolton been spent in enlarging their 
scanty potations: at Mauchline it was fixed, that the money so arising should 
be set apart for the purchase of books; and the first work procured in 
this manner was the Mirror, the separate numbers of Avhich were at that time 
recently collected and published in volumes. After it followed a number of 
other works, chiefly of the same nature, and among these the Lounger. 

The society of Mauchline still subsists, and was in the list of subscribers to 
the first edition of the works of its celebrated associate. 

Whether, in the humble societies of Avhich he was a member, Bums acquir- 
ed much direct information, may perhaps be questioned. It cannot however be 
doubted, that by collision the faculties of his mind would be excited, that by 
practice his habits of enunciation would be established, and thus we have somo 
explanation of that early command of words and of expression which enabled 
him to pour forth his thoughts in language not unworthy of his genius, and 
which, of all his endowments, seemed, on his appearance in Edinburgh, the 
most extraordinary. For associations of a literary nature, our poet acquired a 
considerable relish; and happy had it been for him, after he emerged from the 
condition of a peasant, if fortune had permitted him to enjoy them in 
the degree of which he was capable, so as to have fortified his principles of 
virtue by the purification of his taste, and given to the energies of his mind 
habits of exertion that might have excluded other associations, in which it 
must be acknowledged they were too often wasted, as well as debased. 

The whole course of the Ayr is fine; but the banks of that river, as it bends 
to the eastward above Mauchline, are singularly beautiful, and they were 
frequented, as may be imagined, by our poet in his solitary walks. Here the 
muse often visited him. 

At this time Burns' prospects in life were so extremely gloomy, that he hac] 
decided upon going out to Jamaica, and had pi'ocured the situation of overseer 
on an estate belonging to Dr. Douglas ; not, however, without lamenting, that 
want of patronage should force him to think of a project so repugnant to hia 
feelings, when his ambition aimed iat no higher object than the station of an 
exciseman or ganger in his own country. But the situation in which he was 
nov/ placed cannot be better illustrated than by introducing the letter which he 
wrote to Dr. Moore, giving an account of his life up to this period. As it was 
never intended to see the light : elegance, or perfect correctneaa of composition, 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 9 

will not be expected. These however, will be compensated by the opportunity 
of seeing our poet, as he gives the incidents of his life, unfold the peculiarities 
of his character with all the careless vigor and open sincerity of his mind. 

" Sir : Mauchline, 2d August, 1787. 

" For some months past I have been rambling over the country ; but I am 
now confined with some lingering complaints, originating, as I take it, in the 
stomach. To divert my spirits a little in this miserable fog of ennui, I have 
taken a whim to give you a history of myself. My name has made some little 
noise in this country ; you have done me the honour to interest yourself very 
warmly in my behalf ; and I think a faithful account of what character of 
a man I am, and how I came by that character, may perhaps aumse you in an 
idle moment. I will give you an honest narrative ; though I know it will be 
often at my own expense ; — for I assure you, sir, I have, like Solomon, whose 
character, except in the trifling affair of wisdom, I sometimes think I resemble 
— I have, 1 say, like him, ' turned my eyes to behold madness and folly,' and, 
like him, too frequently shaken hand with their intoxicating friendship. * " 

* After you have perused these pages, should you think them trifling and 
impertinent, I only beg leave to tell you, that the poor author wrote them un- 
der some twitching qualms of conscience, arising from a suspicion that he 
■was doing what he ought not to do — a predicament he has more than once been 
in before. 

" I have not the most distant pretensions to assume that character, which 
the pye-coated guardians of escutcheons call a Gentleman. When at Edinburgh 
last winter, I got acquainted in the Herald's OSice; and looking through that 
granary of honours, I there found almost every name in the kingdom; but for 
me, 

My ancient but ignoble blood 
Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood. 

Gules, Purpure, Argent, &c., quite disowned me. 

" My father was of the north of Scotland, the son of a farmer, and was 
thrown by early misfortunes on the world at large ; where, after many years' 
wanderings and sojournings, he picked up a pretty large quantity of observa- 
tion and experience, to which I am indebted for most of my pretensions to wis- 
dom. I have met with few who understood men, their manners, and their 
ways, equal to him; but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong, ungovern- 
able irascibility, nre disqualifying circumstances; consequently, 1 was born a 
very poor man's son. For the first six or seven years of my life, my father 
was gardener to a worthy gentleman of small estate in the neighborhood of 
Ayr. Had he continued in that station, I must have marched off to be one of 
the little underlings about a farm house ; but it was iiis dearest wish and 
prayer to have it in his power to keep his children under his own eye till they 
could discern between good and evil; so, with the assistance of his generous 
master, my father ventured on a small farm on his estate. At those years I 
was by no means a favourite with anybody. I was a good deal noted for a re- 
tentive memory, a stubborn sturdy something in my disposition, and an enthu- 
siastic idiot piety. I say idiot piety, because I was th«n but a child. Though 
it cost the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excellent English scholar; 
and by the time I was ten or eleven years of age, I was a critic in substantives, 
verbs, and participles. In my infant and boyish days, too, I owed much to an 
old woman who resided in the family, remarkable for her ignorance, credulity, 
and superstition. She had, I suppose, the largest collection in the country of tales 
- and songs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, witches, warlocks, 
spunkies, kelpies, elf-candles, deadlights, wraiths, apparitions, cantraips, 
giants, enchanted towera, dragons^ and other trumpery, This cultivated the 



latent seeds of poetry ; but liad so strong an effect an my imagination, that to 
this hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp look-out in sus- 
picious places ; and though nobody can be more skeptical than I am in 
such matters, yet it often takes an effort of philosophy to shake off these idlq 
terrors. The earliest composition that I recollect taking pleasure in was The 
Vision of Mirza, and a hymn of Addison's, beginning ' How are thy servants 
blessed, O Lord !' I particularly remember one half-stanza, which was music 
to my boyish ear — 

For though on dreadful whirls we hung 
High on the broken wave. 

I met with these pieces in Mason's English Collection, one of my school-books. 
The two first books I ever read in private, and which gave me more pleasure 
than any two books I ever read since, were, Th,^ Life of Ilccmibal, and I'he 
History of Sir William Wallace. Hannibal gave my young ideas such a turn, 
that 1 used to strut in raptures up and down after the recruiting drum and bag- 
pipe, and wish myself tall enough to be a soldier ; while the story of Wallace 
poured a Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil along there till the 
liood-gates of life shut in eternal rest. 

" Polemical divinity about this time was putting the country half mad : and 
I, ambitious of shining in conversation parties on Sundays, between sermons, 
at funerals, &c. , used a few j-ears afterwards to puzzle Calvinism with so much 
heat and indiscretion, that I raised a hue-and-cry of heresy against me, which 
has not ceased to this hour. 

' ' My vicinity to Ayr was of some advantage to me. My social disposition, 
when not checlved by some modifications of spirited pride, was, like our cate- 
chism definition of infinitude, without hounds or limits. I formed several con- 
nections with other yonkers who possessed superior advantages, the youngling 
actors, who \feve busy in the rehearsal of parts in which they v/ere shortly to 
appear on the stage of life, where, alas ! 1 was destined to drudge behind tlie 
scenes. It is not commonly at this green age that our young gentry have a just 
sense of the immense distance between them and their ragged play-fellows. It 
takes a few dashes into the world, to give the young great man that proper, de- 
cent, unnoticing disregard for the poor, insignificant, stupid devils, the me- 
chanics and peasantry around him, who were perhaps born in the same village. 
My young superiors never insulted the cZo!«i!e?% appearance of my plough-boy 
carcase, the two extremes of which were often exposed to all the inclemencies 
of all the seasons. They would give me stray volumes of books • among them, 
even then, I could pick up some observations ; and one, whose heart 1 am suro 
not even the Manny Begum, scenes have tainted, lielped me to a little French. 
Parting with these my young friends and benefactors, as they occasionally 
went off for the East or West Indies, v/as often to me a sore affliction ; but I 
was soon called to more serious evils. My father's generous master died ; the 
farm proved a ruinous bargain ; and, to clench the misfortune, we fell into 
the hands of a factor, who sat for the picture I have drawn of one in my Tali 
of Twa Dogs. My father was advanced in life when he married ; I was the 
eldest of seven children ; and he, worn out by early hardships, was unfit for 
labour. My father's spirit was soon irritated, but not easily broken. There was 
a freedom in his lease in two years more ; and, to weather these two years, we 
retrenched our expenses. We lived very poorly : I was a dexterous plough- 
man for my age ; and the next eldest to me was a brother (Gilbert), who could 
drive the plough very well and help me to thrash the corn. A novel-writer 
might perhaps have viewed these scenes with some satisfaction ; but so did not 

I ; my indignation yet boils at the recollection of the s 1 factor's insolent 

threatening letters, which used to set us all in tears. 

" This kind of life — the cheerless gloom of a hermit, with the unceasing moil 



IVIEMOIR OP ROBERT BURNS. II 

or a galley-slave, brouglit me to my sixteentli year : a little before vvliicli 
period I first committed the sin of rhyme. You know our country custoni of 
coupling a man and woman together as partners in the labours of the harvest. 
In my fifteenth autumn, my partner was a bewitching creature a year younger, 
than myself. My scarcity of English denies me the power of doing her 
justice in that language, but you know the Scottish idiom — she was a 
I'onnie, sweet, sonsielass. In short, she, altogether unwittingly to herself, in- 
itiated me into that delicious passion, which, in spite of acid disappointment, 
gin-horse prudence, and book- worm philosophy, I hold to be the first of human 
joys, our dearest blessing here below ! How she caught the contagion, I cannot 
tell : you medical people talk much of infection from breathing the same air, 
the touch, &c. ; but I never expressly said I loved her. Indeed, I did not know 
myself why I liked so much to loiter behind with her, when returning in the 
evening from our labours ; why the tones of her voice made my heart-strings 
thrill lilio an ^'Eolian harp ; and particularly why my pulse beat such a furious 
rattan when I loolced and fingered over her little hand to pick out the cruel 
nettle-stings and thistles. Among her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung 
sweetly ; and it was her favourite reel to whicli I attempted giving an embodied 
vehiclo in rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to imagine that I could make 
verses like printed ones, composed by men who had Greek and Latin ; but my 
girl sung a song, which was said to be composed by a small country laird's son, 
on ono of his father's maids, with whom he was in love ! and I saw no reason 
why 1 miglit not rhyme as well as he : for, excepting that he could smear 
sheep, and cast peats, his father living in the moorlands, he had no more 
school-craft than myself. 

" Thus witk me began love and poetry ; which at times have been my only, 
and till witiiin the last twelve months, have been my highest enjoyment. My 
father struggled on till he reached the freedom in his lease, when he entered on 
a larger farm, about ten miles farther in the country. The nature of the bar- 
gain he made was such as to throw a little ready money into his hands at tha 
commencement of his lease ; otherwise the afl^air would have been impracti- 
cable. For four years we lived comfortably here ; but a difference commencing 
between him and his landlord as to terms, after three years' tossing and whirl- 
ing in the vortex of litigation, my father was just saved from the horrors of a 
jail by a consumption, which, after two years' promises, kindly stepped in, and 
carried him away, to ' where the wicked cease from troubling, and where the 
weary are at rest. ' 

" It is during the time that we lived on this farm that my little story is most 
CA-entful. I was, at the beginning of this period, perhaps the most ungainly, 
awkward boy in the pari.sh — no solitaire was less acquainted with the ways of 
the world. What I knew of ancient story was gathered from Salmon's and 
Guthrie's geographical grammars ; and the ideas I had formed of modern man- 
ners, of literature and criticism, I got from the Spectator. These, with Pope's 
Works, some plays of Shakespeare, TuU and Dickson on Agriculture, The Pan- 
theon, Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, Stackhouse' s Ilistory of the 
Bible, Justice's British Gardener's Directory, Bayle's Lectures, Allan Ramsay's 
Works, Taylor's Scripture Doctrine of Original Sin, A Select Collection of Eng- 
lish Songs, and Hervey's Meditations, had formed the whole of my reading. 
The collection of songs was my vade mecum. I pored over them driving my 
cart, or walking to labour, song by song, verse by verse ; carefully noting the 
true, tender, or sublime, from affectation and fustian. I am convinced 1 owe 
to this practice much of my critic craft, such as it is. 

" In my seventeenth year, to give my manners a brush, I went to a country 
dancing-school. — My father had an unaccountable antipathy against these meet- 
ings ; and my going was, what to this moment I repent, in opposition to liis 
wishes. My father, as 1 said before, was subject to strong passions ; from 



13 MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURETS. 

tliat instance of disobedience m me, lie took a sort of a dislike to mo, wliicli I 
believe Avas one cause of the dissipation wliicli marked my succeeding years. 
I say dissipation, comparatively with the strictness, and sobriety, and regular- 
ity of Presbyterian country Me ; for though the Will-o'-Wisp meteors of 
thoughtless whim were almost the sole lights of my path, yet early ingrained 
piety and virtue kept me for several years afterwards within the line of inno- 
cence. The great misfortune of my life was to v/ant an aim. I had felt early 
some stirrings of ambition, but they were the blind gropings of Homer's Cyclops 
round the walls of his cave. I saw my father's situation entailed on me per- 
petual labour. The only two openings by which I could enter the temple of For- 
tune, was the gate of niggardly economy, or the path of littlo chicaning bar- 
gain-maldng. The first is so contracted an aperture, I never could squeeze my- 
self into it ; — the last I always hated — there was contamination in the very en- 
trance ! Thus abandoned of aim or viow in life, with a strong appetite for 
sociability, as well from native hilarity, as from a pride of observation and re- 
mark ; a constitutional melancholy or hypochondriacism, that made me lly soli- 
tude ; add to these incentives to social life, my reputation for bookish knowl- 
edge, a certain wild logical talent, and a strength of thought, something like 
the rudiments of good sense; and it will not seem surprising that I was gener- 
ally a welcome guest, where I visited, or any great wonder that, always where 
two or three met together, there I was among them. Bat far beyond all other 
impulses of my heart, was un penchant d Vadorahls moitie du genre humain. 
My heart was completely tinder, and was eternally lighted up by some goddess 
or other; and as in every other warfare in this world, my foi'tune was vai'ioua 
■ — sometimes I was received with favour, and sometimes I was mortified with a re- 
pulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook, I feared no competitor, and thus I 
set absolute want at defiance; and as I never cared farther for my labours than 
while I was in actual exercise, I spent the evenings in the way after my owu 
heart. A country lad seldom carries on a love-adventure without an assisting 
confidant. I possessed a curiosity, zeal, and intrepid dexterity, that recom- 
mended me as a proper second on these occasions ; _ and I dare say 1 felt as 
much pleasure in being in the secret of half the loves of the parish of Tarbol- 
ton, as ever did statesman in knowing the intrigues of half the courts of Eu- 
rope. — The very goose-feather in my hand seems to know instinctively tho 
well-worn path of my imagination, the favourite theme of my song; and is 
with difficulty restrained from giving you a couple of paragraphs on the love- 
adventures of my compeers, the humble inmates of the farm-house and cottage; 
but the grave sons of science, ambition, or avarice, baptize these things by the 
name of Follies. To the sons and daughters of labour and poverty, they are 
matters of the most serious nature : to them the ardent hope, tlie stolen inter- 
view, the tender farewell, are the greatest and most delicious parts of their 
enjoyments. 

"Another circumstance in my life which made some alteration in my mind 
and manners, was that I spent my nineteenth summer on a smuggling coast, a 
g0!)d distance from home, at a noted school, to learn mensuration, surveying, 
dialling, kc, in which I made a pretty good progress. But I made a greater 
progress in the knowledge of mankind. The contraband trade was at that 
time very successful, and it sometimes happened to me to fall in with those 
who carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot and roaring dissipation were till 
this time new to me : but I was no enemy to social life. Here, though I 
learnt to fill my glass and to mix without fear in a drunken squabble, yet I 
went on with a high hand with my geometry, till the sun entered Virgo, a 
month which is always a carnival in my bosom, when a charming fillette, who 
lived next door to the school, overset my trigonometry, and sent me off at a 
tangent from the sphere of my studies. I, however, struggled on with mj 



eines and co-sines for a few days more ; but stepping into tlie garden one cliarm- 
iug noon to take the pun's altitude, there 1 met my angel, 

Like Proserpine gathering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flower. 

" It was in vain to think of doing any more good at school. The remaining 
week I staid, I did nothing but craze the faculties of my soul about her, or 
steal out to meet her ; and the two last nights of my stay in the country, had 
sleep been a mortal sin, the image of this modest and innocent girl had kept me 
guiltless. 

" I returned home very considerably improved. My reading was enlarged 
with the very important addition of Thomson's and'^Shenstone's Works ; I had 
seen human nature in a new phasis : and I engaged several of my school-fel. 
lows to keep up a literary correspondence Avith me. This improved me in com. 
position, I had met with a collection of letters by the wits of Queen Anne's 
reign, and I pored over them most devoutly ; I kept copies of any of my own 
letters that pleased me ; and a comparison between them and the compositiou 
of most of my correspondents flattered my vanity. I carried this whim so far, 
that though I had not three farthings' worth of business in the world, yci 
almost every post brought me as many letters as if I had been a plodding soa 
of a day-book and ledger, , 

"My life flowed on much in the same course till my twenty-third year.' 
Vive V amour, et vive la bagatelle, were my sole principles of "action. The addi- 
tion of two more authors to my library gave me great pleasure ; Sterne 
and M'Kenzie — Tristram Shandy and The Man of Feeling — were my bosom 
favourites. Poesy was still a darling v\ralk for my mind : but it was only in- 
dulged in according to the humour of the hour. I had usually half a dozen or 
more pieces in hand ; I took up one or the other, as it suited the momentary 
tone of the mind, and dismissed the work as it bordered on fatigue. My pas- 
sions, when once lighted up, raged like so many devils till they got vent in 
rhyme ; and then the conning over my verses, like a spell, soothed all into 
quiet. None of the rhymes of those days are in print, except, Winter, a Dirge, 
the eldest of my printed pieces ; The Death of Poor Mailie, John Barleycorn, 
and songs, first, second, and third. Song second was the ebullition of that 
passion which ended the forementioned school business. « 

' ' My twenty- third year was to me an important era. Partly through whim, 
and partly that I wished to set about doing something in life, I joined a flax- 
dresser in a neighbouring town (Irvine) to learn his trade. This was an unlucky 
affair. My ***** ^ *; and, to finish the whole, as we were giving a welcom- 
ing carousal to the new year, the shop took fire, and burnt to ashes; and I was 
lel'b, like a true poet, not worth a sixpence. «• • 

"I was obliged to give up this scheme; the clouds of misfortune were 
gathering thick round my father's head; and what was worst of all, he was 
visibly far gone in a consumption; and, to crown my distresses, a helle fdle 
whom I adored, and who had pledged her soul to meet me in the field 
of matrimony, jilted me with peculiar circumstances of mortification. The 
finishing evil that brought up the rear of this infernal file was, my constitu- 
tional melancholy being increased to such a degree, that for three months I was 
in a state of mind scarcely to be envied by the hopeless wretches who have got 
their mittimus — Depart from me, ye accursed! 

" From this adventure, I learned something of a town life; but the principal 
thing ATliich gave my mind a turn was a friendship I formed with a young 
fellow, a very noble character, but a hapless son of misfortune. He was a soa 
of a simple mechanic; but a great man in the neighbourhood taking him under 
tis patronage, gav9 hiu^ a genteel education, with a view of bettering 



14 MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

his situation iu life. Tlie patron dying just as lie was ready to launch out into 
the world, the poor fellow in despair went to sea; where, after a variety 
of good and ill fortune, a little before I was acquainted with him, h& had been 
set ashore by an American privateer, on the wild coast of Connaught, stripped 
of everything. I cannot quit this poor fellow's story without adding, that he 
is at this time master of a large West-Indiaman, belonging to the Thames. 

" His mind was fraught with independence, magnanimity, and every manly 
virtue. I loved and admired hini to a degree of enthusiasm, and of course 
strove to imitate him. In some measure 1 succeeded ; 1 had pride before, but 
he taught it to How iu proper channels. His knowledge of the world was 
vastly superior to mine, and I was all attention to learn. He was the only man 
I ever saw who was a greater fool than myself, where woman was the presid- 
ing star; but he spoke of illicit love with the levity of a sailor, which hitherto 
1 had regarded with horror. Here his friendship did me a mischief, and the 
consequence w^as, that soon after I resumed the plough, I wrote the Poet's 
Welcome.'^ My reading only increased, while in this town, by two stray 
volumes of Pamela, and one of Ferdinand Gaunt Fathom, which gave 
me some idea of novels. Rhyme, except some religious pieces that are in print, 
I had given up; but meeting with Fergusson' s Scottish Poems, 1 strung anew 
my wildly-sounding lyre with emulating vigour. When my father died, his all 
went among the hell-hounds that growl in the kennel of justice; but we made 
a shift to collect a little money in the family among us, with which, to keep us 
together, my brother and I took a neighbouring farm. My brother wanted my 
hair-brained imagination, as well as my social and amorou^madness; but, iu 
good sense, and every sober qualification, he was far my superior. 

" I entered ©n this fann with a full resolution, ' Come, go to, I»will be wise!* 
I read farming books; I calculated crops; I attended markets: and, in short, in 
spite of ' the devil, and the world, and the flesh,' I believe I should have been 
a wise man; but the first year, from unfortunately buying bad seed, — 
the second, from a late harvest, — we 'lost half our cro^ss. This overset all my 
v/isdom, and I returned, ' like the dog to his vomit, and the sow that 
v." as washed to her wallowing in the mire.' 

" I now began to be known in the neighbourhood as a maker of rhymes. The 
first of my poetic offspring that saw the light v/as a burlesque lamentation on a 
quarrel between two reverend Calvinists, both of them dramatis persona in my 
Holy Fair. I had a notion myself, that the piece had some merit; but 
to prevent the worst, I gave a copy of it to a friend who v/as very fond of such 
things, and told him that I could not guess who v.'as the author of it, but that 
I thought it jjretty clever. With a certain description of the clergy, as well as 
laity, it met with a roar of applause. Holy Wi'die's Prayer next made its 
appearance, and alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they held several meet- 
ings to look over their spiritual artillery, if haply any of it might be pointed 
against profane rhymers. Unluckily for me. my wanderings led me on another 
Bide, within point-blank shot of their heaviest metal. This is the unfortunate 
story that gave rise to my printed poem Tlie Lament. This was a most melan- 
choly aiiair, which I cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had very nearly given 
me one or two of the principal qualifications for a place among those who have 
lost the chart, and mistaken the reckoning, of Rationality. I gave up my part 
of the farm to my brother, — in truth, it was only nominally mine, — and made 
what little preparation was in my power for Jamaica. But, before leaving my 
native country forever, I resolved to publish my poems. I weighed my pro- 
ductions as impartially as was in my power; I thought they had merit; and it 
was a delicious idea that I should be called a clever fellow, even though it 
should never reach my ears — a poor negro-driver, — or perhaps a victim to that 

* Rob the Rhymer's Welcome to his Bastard Chi'.d. 



T.IEMOIR 07 ROBERT BURNS, 1*) 

liiliospitable clime, and gone to the world of spirits ! I can truly say, that 
"ptiuvre inco7inu as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high an idea of myself 
and my works as I have at this moment, when the public has decided in their 
favour. It ever was my opinion, that the mistakes and blunders, both in a 
rational and religious point of view, of which we see thousands daily guilty, 
are owing to their ignorance of themselves. — To know myself has been 
all along my constant study. I weighed myself alone; I balanced myself with 
others; I v.'atched every means of information, to see how much ground 1 occu- 
pied as a man and as a poet: I studied assiduously Nature's design in my form- 
ation — where the lights and shades in my character were intended. I was pretty 
confident my poems would meet with some applause; but, at the worst, the 
roar of the Atlantic would deafen the voice of censure, and the novelty of West 
Indian scenes make me forget neglect. I threw off six hundred copies, of 
wdiich I had got subscriptions for about three hundred and fifty. — My vanity 
was highly gratified by the reception I met with from the public; and besides, 
I pocketed, all expenses deducted, nearly twenty pounds. This sum came very 
seasonably, as 1 was thinking of indenting myself, for want of money to pro- 
cure my passage. As soon as I was master of nine guineas, the price of 
wafting me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in the fii-st ship that 
was to sail from, the Clyde; for 

Hungry ruin had me in the wind. 

" I had been for some days skulking from covert to covert, under all the ter- 
rors of a jail ; as some ill-advised people had uncoupled the merciless pack of 
the law at my heels. I had taken the last farewell of my friends ; my chest 
was on the road to Greenock ; I had composed the last song I should ever 
measure in Caledonia, 'The gloomy night Avas gathering fast,' when a letter 
from Dr. Blacklock, to a friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes, by open- 
ing new prospects to my poetic ambition. The Doctor belonged to a set of 
critics, for whose applause I had not dared to hope. His opinion that I would 
meet with encouragement in Edinburgh for a second edition fired me so much, 
that away I posted for that city, without a single acquaintance, or a single 
letter of introduction. The baneful star, that had so long shed its blasting 
infiuence in my zenith, for once made a revolution to the Nadir ; and a kind 
Providence placed me under the patronage of one of the noblest of men, the 
Earl of Glencairn. Ouhliemoi, Grcuid Dicu, si jamais je PouUie f 

" I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh I was in a new world ; I mingled 
among many classes of men, but all of them new to me, and I was all attention 
to catch the characters and ' the manners living as they rise. ' Whether I have 
profited, time will show." 

Burns set out for Edinburgh in the month of November, 1786, and ar- 
rived on the second day afterwards, having performed his journey on foot. 
He was furnished with a letter of introduction to Dr. Blacklock from Mr. 
Laurie, to whom the Dector had addressed the letter which has been repre- 
£«nted as the immediate cause of iiis visiting the Scottish metropolis. . He was 
acquainted with Mr. Stewart, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the Univer- 
sity, and had been entertained by that gentleman at Catriue, his estate in Ayr- 
shire. He had been introduced by Mr. Alexander Dalzel to the Earl of Glen- 
cairn, who had expressed his high approbation of his poetical talents. He had 
friends, therefore, who could introduce him into the circles of literature, as 
well as of fashion, and his own manners and appearance exceeding every ex- 
pectation that could have been formed of them, he soon became an object of 
general curiosity and admiration. 

The scene that opened on our bard in Edinburgh was altogether new, and ia 
a variety of other respects highly interesting, especially to one of his disposi- 
tion of mind. To use an exp rcssJo a of his ovv:; he found himself " suddenly 



I«5 MEMOIR OF ROBEliT BUKJNiS. 

translated from tlie veriest shades of life," into the presence, and indeed istc 
the society, of a number of persons, previously known to hira by report as of 
the highest distinction in his country, and whose characters it was natural 
for him to examine with no common curiosity. 

From the men of letters in general, his reception was particularly flattering. 

A taste for letters is not always conjoined with habits of temperance and 
regularity; and Edinburgh, at the time of which we speak, contained perhaps 
an uncommon proportion of men of considerable talents, devoted to social ex- 
cesses, in which tlieir talents were wasted and debased. 

Burns entered into several parties of this description, with the usual vehe 
raence of his character. His generous affections, his ardent eloquence, his 
brilliant and daring imagination, fitted him to be the idol of such associations ; 
and accustoming himself to conversation of unlimited range, and to festive in- 
dulgences that scorned restraint, he gradually lost some portion of his relish 
for tlie more pure, but less poignant pleasures, to be found in the circles of 
taste, elegance and literature. The sudden alteration in his habits of life op- 
erated on him physically as well as morally. The humble fare of an Ayrshire 
peasant he had exchanged for the luxuries of the Scottish metropolis, and the 
effects of this change on his ardent constitution could not be inconsiderable. 
But whatever influence might be produced on his conduct, his excellent under- 
standing suffered no corresponding debasement. He estimated his friends and 
associates of every description at their proper value, and appreciated his own 
conduct with a precision that might give scope to much curious and melan- 
choly reflection. He saw his danger, and at times formed resolutions to guard 
against it; but he had embarked on the tide of dissipation, and Avas borne 
along its stream. 

By the new edition of his poems, Burns acquired a sum of money that en- 
abled him not only to partake of the pleasures of Edinburgh, but to gratify a 
desire he had long entertained, of visiting those parts of his native country 
most attractive by their beauty or their grandeur; a desire which the return of 
summer naturally revived. The scenery of the banks of the Tweed, and of its 
tributary streams, strongly interested his fancy; and, accordingly, he left 
Edinburgh on the 0th of May, 1787, on a tour through a country so much cele- 
brated in the rural songs of Scotland. He travelled on horseback, and was 
accompanied, during some fjart of his journey, by Mr. Ainslie, v/riter to tho 
signet, a gentleman who enjoyed much of his friendship and his confidence. 

Having spent three weeks in exploring the interesting scenery of the Tweed, 
the Jed, the Ttviot, and other border districts, Burns ci'ossed over into North- 
umberland. Mr. Kerr and Mr. Hood, two gentlemen with whom he had 
become acquainted in the course of his tour, accompanied him. He visited 
Alnwick Castle, the princely seat of the Duke of Northumberland ; the hermit- 
age and old castle of Warlvsworth ; Morpeth, and Newcastle. In this town he 
spent two days, and then proceeded to the southwest by Hexham and Wardrue, 
to Carlisle. After spending a day at Carlisle with his friend Mr. Mitchell, he 
returned into Scotland by way of Annan. 

Of the various persons with whom he became acquainted in the course of 
this journey, he has, in general, given some account, y.nd almost always a 
favourable one. From Annan, Burns proceeded to Dumfries, and thence 
through Sanquhar, to Mossgiel, near Mauchline, in Ayrshire, where he arrived 
about the 8th of June, 1787, after a long absence of six busy and eventful 
months. It v/ill easily be conceived with what pleasure and pride he Avas 
received by his mother, his brothers and sisters. He had left them poor, and 
comparatively friendless ; he returned to them high in public estimation, and 
easy in his circumstances. He returned to them unchanged in his ardent 
affections, and ready to share with them, to the uttermost farthing, the pittance 
that fortune had bestowed. 

Having remained with them a few days, he proceeded again to Edinburgh, 
and immediately set out on a journey to thR IJio-l>lnnria. 



From tliis journey Burns returned to liis friends in Ayrsliire, witli wliom lie 
spent the month of July, I'enewing his friendships, and extending his acquaint- 
ance throughout the county, -where he was now very generally known and 
admired. In August he again visited Edinburgh, whence he undertoolc 
another journey, towards the middle of this month, in company with Mr. M. 
Adair, afterwards Dr. Adair, of Harrowgate. 

The different journeys already mentioned did not satisfy the curiosity of 
Burns. About the beginning of September he again set out from Edinburgh, 
on a more extended tour to the Highlands, in company with Mr. Nicol, "with 
whom he had contracted a particular intimacy, which lasted during the remain- 
der of his life. Mr. Nicol was of Dumfriesshire, of a descent equally humble 
with our poet. Like him he rose by the strength of his talents, and fail by the 
strength of his passions. He died in the summer of 1797. Having received 
the elements of a classical instruction at his parish school, Mr. Nicol made a 
very rapid and singular proficiency ; and by early undertaking the office of an 
instructor himself, he acquired the means of entering himself at the University 
of Edinburgh. There he was first a student of theology, then a student of 
medicine, and was afterwards employed in the assistance and instruction of 
graduates in medicine, in those parts of their exercises in which the Latin lan- 
guage is employed. In this situation he was the contemporary and rival of 
the celebrated Dr. Brown, whom he resembled in the particulars of liis history, 
as well as in the leading features of his chai-acter. The office of assistant- 
teacher in the High-School being vacant, it was as usual filled up by compe- 
titioa ; and in the face of some prejudices, and perhaps of some well-founded 
objections, Mr. Nicol, by superior learning, carried it from all the other candi- 
dates. This office he filled at the j^eriod of wdiich we speak. 

Mr. Nicol and our poet travelled in a post-chaise, which they engaged for 
the journey, and passing through the heart of the Highlands, stretched north- 
wards about ten miles beyond Inverness. There they bent their course east- 
ward, across the island, and returned by the shore of the German Sea to Edin- 
burgh. In the course of this tour, they visited a number of remarkable 
scenes, and the imagination of Burns was constantly excited by the wild and 
sublime scenery through which he passed. 

A few days after leaving Blair of Athole, our poet and his fellow-traveller 
arrived at Fochabers. In the course of the preceding winter Burns had been 
introduced to the Duchess of Gordon at Edinburgh, and presuming on this 
acquaintance, he proceeded to Gordon Castle, leaving Mr. Nicol at the inn in 
the village. At the castle our poet was received with the utmost hospitality 
and kindness, and the family being about to sit down to dinner, he was invited 
to take his place at the table, as a matter of course. This invitation he accepted, 
and after drinking a few glasses of wine, he rose up, and proposed to with- 
draw. On being pressed to stay, he mentioned, for the first time, his engage- 
ment with his fellow-traveller; and liis noble host offering to send a servant to 
conduct Mr. Nicol to the castle. Burns insisted on undertalving that office him- 
self. He was, however, accompanied by a gentleman, a particular acquaint- 
ance of the Duke, by whom the invitation was delivered in all the forms of 
politeness. The invitation, however, came too late; the pride of Nicol was 
inflamed to the liighest degree by the neglect which he had already suffered. 
He had ordered the horses to be put to the carriage, being determined to pro- 
ceed on his journey alone; and they found him parading the streets of Focha- 
bers, before the door of the inn, venting his anger on the postillion, for the 
slowness with which be obeyed his commands. As no explanation nor en- 
treaty could change the purpose of his fellow-traveller, our poet was reduced 
to the necessity of separating from him entirely, or of instantly proceeding 
with him on their journey. He chose the last of these alternatives; and seat- 
ing himself beside Nicol ia the post-chaise, with mortiflcatiori and regret ho 



18 MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

turned liis back on Gordon Castle; wliere lie had promised liimself some liappy 
days. 

Burns remained at Edinburgh during tlie greater part of tlie winter, 1787-8, 
and again entered into the society and dissipation of tliat metropolis. 

On settling with his publisher, Mr. Creech, in February, 1788, Burns found 
himself master of nearly five hundred pounds, after discharging all his expen- 
ses. Two hundred pounds he immediately advanced to his brother Gilbert, 
Vtdio had taken upon himself the support of their aged mother, and was strug- 
gling with many difficulties in the farm of Mossgiel. With the remainder of 
this sum, and some farther eventual profits from his poems, he determined on 
settling himself for life in the occupation of agriculture, and took from Mr. 
Miller, of Dalswinton, the farm of Ellisland, on the banks of the river Nith, 
six miles above Dumfries, on which he entered at Whitsunday, 1788. Having 
been previously recommended to the Board of Excise, his name had been put 
on the list of candidates for the humble ofiice of a gauger, or exciseman ; 
and he immediately applied to acquiring the information necessary for filling 
that ofiice, when the honourable Board might judge it proper to employ him. 
He expected to be called into service in the district in which his farm was sit- 
uated, and vainly hoped to unite with success the labours of the farmer with 
the duties of the exciseman. 

When Burns had in this manner arranged his plans for futurity, his gener- 
ous heart turned to the object of his most ardent attachment, and listening to 
no considerations but those of honour and affection, he joined with her iu a 
public declaration of marriage, thus legalising their union, and rendering it 
permanent for life. 

It was not convenient for Mrs. Burns to remove immediately from Ayrshire, 
and our poet therefore took up his residence alone at Ellisland, to prepare for 
the reception of his wife and children, who joined him towards the end of the 
year. 

The situation in which Burns now found himself was calculated to awaken 
reflection. The diilerent steps he had of late taken wero in their nature highly 
important, and might be said to have, in some measure, fixed his destuiy. Ho 
had become a husband and a father ; he had engaged in the management of a 
considerable farm, a difficult and labourioiis undertaking ; in his success the 
happiness of his family was involved ; it was time, therefore, to abandon tlie 
gayety and dissipation of which he had been too much enamoured ; to ponder 
seriously on the past, and to form virtuous resolutions respecting the future. 

He commenced by immediately rebuilding the dwelling house on his farm, 
which, in the state he found it, was inadequate to the accommodation of his 
family. On this occasion, he himself resumed at times the occupation of a la- 
bourer, and found neither his strength nor his skill impaired. Pleased Avitli 
surveying the grounds he was about to cultivate, and with the rearing of a 
building that should give shelter to his wife and children, and, as he fondly 
hoped, to his own gray hairs, sentiments of independence buoyed up his mind, 
pictures of domestic content and peace rose on his imagination ; and a few 
days passed away, as he himself informs us, the most tranquil, if not the hap- 
piest, which he had ever experienced. 

His fame naturally drew upon him the attention of his neighbonrs, andhe 
soon formed a general acquaintance in the district in which he lived. The 
public voice had now pronounced on the subject of his talents ; the reception 
he had met with in Edinburgh had given him the currency which fashion be- 
stows ; he liad surmounted the prejudices arising from his humble birth, and 
he was received at the table of the gentlemen of Nithsdale with Avelcome, with 
kindness, and even with respect. Their social parties too often seduced him 
from his rustic labours, and it was not long, therefore, before. Burns began to 
view his farm with dislike and despondence, if not with disgust. 



MEMOITv OF nOBERT BURNS. ig 

He might indeed still be seen in the spring directing his plough, a labour in 
which he excelled ; or with a white sheet containing his seed-corn, slung 
across his shoulders, striding with measured steps along his turned-up fur- 
rows, and scattering the grain in the earth. But his farm no longer oceapied 
the principal part of his care or his thoughts. It was not at EUisland that he 
was now in general to be found. Mounted on horseback, this high-minded 
poet was pursuing the defaulters of the revenue among the hills and vales of 
Nithsdale, his roving eye wandering over the charms of nature, and Muttering 
his wayward fancies as he moved along. 

Besides his duties in the Excise and his social pleasures, other circumstances 
interfered with the attention of Burns to his farm. He engaged in the forma- 
tion of a society for purchasing and circulating books among the farmers of his 
neighbourhood, of which he undertook the management ; and he occupied him- 
self occasionally in composing songs for the musical work of Mr. Johnson, 
then in the course of publication. These engagements, useful and honourabla 
in themselves, contributed, no doubt, to the abstraction of his thoughts from 
the business of agriculture. 

The consequences may be easily imagined. Notwithstanding the uniform 
prudence and good management of Mrs. Burns, and though his rent was mod- 
erate and reasonable, our poet found it convenient, if not necessary, to resign 
his farm to Mr. Miller, after having occupied it three years and a half. His 
otfice in the Excise had originally produced about fifty pounds per annum. 
Having acquitted himself to the satisfaction of the Board, he had been ap- 
pointed to a new district, the emoluments of which rose to about seventy pounds 
per annum. Hoping to support himself and his family on his humble income 
till promotion should reach him, he disposed of his stock and of his crop on 
EUisland by public auction, and removed to a small house which he had taken 
in Dumfries, about the end of the year 1791. 

Hitherto Burns, though addicted to excess in social parties, had abstained 
from the habitual use of strong liquors, and his constitution had not suffered 
any permanent injury from the irregularities of his conduct. In Dumfries, 
temptations to "the sin that so easily beset him" continually presented them- 
selves ; and his irregularities grew by degrees into habits. These temptations 
unhappily occurred during his engagements in the business of his ofrice, as well 
as during his hours of relaxation ; and though he clearly foresaw the conse- 
quence of yielding to them, his appetites and sensations, which could not per- 
vert the dictates of his judgment, finally triumphed over the powers of his 
will. 

Still, however, he cultivated the society of persons of taste and respectability, 
and in their company could impose upon himself the restraints of temperance 
and decorum. Nor was his muse dormant. In the four years which he lived 
at Dumfries, he produced many of his beautiful Ij'rics, though it does not ap- 
pear that he attempted any poem of considerable length. 

Burns had entertained hopes of promotion in the Excise ; but circumstances 
occurred which retarded their fulfilment, and which, in his own mind, destroy- 
ed all expectation of their being ever fulfilled. 

In the midst of all his wanderings, Burns met nothing in his domestic circle 
but gentleness and forgiveness, except in the gnawangs of his own remorse. 
He acknowledged his transgressions to the wife of his bosom, promised amend- 
ment, and again received pardon for his offences. But as the strength of his 
body decayed, his resolution became feebler, and habit acquired predominating 
strength. 

From October, 1795, to the January following, an accidental complaint 
confined him to the house. A few days after he began to go abroad, he dined 
at a tavern, and returned about three o'clock in a very cold morning, benumbed 
and intoxicated. This was followed by an attack of rbeumaiisni, wliich con- 
tiaed. him about a week. His ajipctite now bci;au to fail ; Lis hand shook,, and 



20 MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 

his voice faltered on any exertion or emotion. His pulse became weaker and 
more rapid, and pain in tlie larger joints, and in tiie hands and feet, deprived 
him of the enjoyment of refreshing sleep. Too much dejected in his spirits, 
and too well aware of his real situation to entertain hopes of recovery, he was 
ever musing on the approaching desolation of his family, and his spirits sunk 
into a uniform gloom. 

It was hoped by some of his friends, that if he could live through the months 
of spring, the succeeding season might restore him. But they were disappoint- 
ed. The genial beams of the sun infused no vigour into his languid frame ; the 
summer wind blew upon him, but produced no refreshment. About the latter 
end of June he was advised to go into the country, and, impatient of medical 
advice, as well as of every species of control, he determined for himself to try 
th3 effects of bathing in the sea. For this purpose he took up his residence at 
Brow, in Annandale, about ten miles east of Dumfries, on the shore of the 
Solway-Frith. 

At first, Burns imagined bathing in the sea had been of benefit to him.; the 
pains in his limbs were relieved ; but this was irair.ediately followed by a new 
attack of fever. When brought back to his own house in Dumfries, on the 18th 
July, he was no longer able to stand upright. At this time a tremor pervaded 
his frame; his tongue was parched, and his mind sunk into delirium, when rot 
roused by conversation. On the second and third day the fever increased, 
and ills strength diminished. On the fourth, the sufferings of this great but ill- 
fated genius were terminated, and a life was closed in which virtue and passion 
had been at perpetual variance. 

The death of Burns made a strong and general impression on all who had 
interested themselves in his character, and especially on the inhabitants of the 
town and country in which he had spent the latter years of his life. The 
Gentlemen-Volunteers of Dum.fries determined to bury their illustrious associate 
with military honours, and every preparation was made to render this last ser- 
vice solemn and impressive. The Fencible Infantry of Angusshire. and the 
regiment of cavahy of the Cinque Ports, at that time quartered in Dumfries, 
offered their assistance on this occasion ; the principal inhabitants of the town 
and neighbourhood determined to walk in the funeral procession ; and a vast con- 
course of persons assembled, some of them from a considerable distance, 
to witness the obsequies of the Scottish Bard. On the evening of the 25th of 
J uly, the remains of Burns were removed from his house to the Town Hall, and 
the funeral took place on the succeeding day. A party of the Volunteers, 
selected to perform the military duty in the churchyard stationed themselves 
in the front of the procession with their arms reversed ; the main body of the 
corps surrounded and supported the cofiin, on which were placed the hat and 
sword of their friend and fellow-soldier; the numerous body of attendants 
ranged themselves in the rear ; while the Fencible regiments of infantry and 
cavalry lined the streets from the Town Hall to the burial-ground in the 
Southern churchyard, a distance of more than half a mile. The whole proces- 
sion moved forward to that sublime and aifecting strain of music, the Bead 
March in Saul ; and three volleys fired over his grave marked the return of 
Burns to his parent earth! The spectacle was in a high degree grand and 
solemn, and according with the general sentiments of sympathy and sorrow 
which the occasion liad called forth. 

It was an affecting circumstance, that, on the morning of the day of her hus- 
band's funeral, Mrs. Burns was undergoing the pains of labour, and that during 
the solemn service we have just been describing, the posthumous son of our 
poet was born. This infant boy, who received the name of Maxwell, was not 
destined to a long life. He has already become an inhabitant of the same grave 
with his celebrated father. 

The sense of his poverty, and of the approaching distress of his infant family, 
pressed heavily on Burns as he lay on the bed of death. Yet he alluded to hia 



MEMOIR OF ROBERT BURNS. 2t 

indigence, at times, with something approaching to his wonted gayety. — "What 
business," said he to Dr. Maxwell, who attended him with the utmost zeal, 
' ' has a physician to waste his time on me V I am a poor pigeon not worth 
plucking. Alas ! I have not feather enough upon me to carry me to my grave.' 
And when his reason was lost in delirium, his ideas ran in the same melancholy 
train; the horrors of a jail were continually present to his troubled imagination, 
and produced the most affecting exclamations. 

On the death of Burns, the inhabitants of Dumfries and its neighbourhood 
opened a subscription for the support of his Avife and family. The subscrip- 
tion was extended to other parts of Scotland, and of England also, particularly 
London and Liverpool. By this means a sum was raised amounting to seven 
hundred pounds, and thus the widow and children were rescued from imme- 
diate distress, and the most melancholy of the forebodings of Burns hapjDily 
disappointed. 

Burns, as has already been mentioned, was nearly five feet ten inches in height, 
and a form that indicated agility as well as strength. His well-raised forehead, 
shaded with black curling hair, indicated extensive capacity. His eyes were 
large, dark, full of ardour and intelligence. His face was well formed; and his 
countenance uncommonly interesting and expressive. The tones of his voice 
happily corresponded with the expression of his features, and with the feelings 
of his mind. When to these endowments are added a rapid and distinct appre- 
hension, a most powerful understanding, and a happy command of language — • 
of strength as well as brilliancy of expression — we shall be able to account for 
the extraordinary attractions of his conversation — for the sorcery which, in his 
social parties, he seemed to exert on all around him. In the company of women 
this sorcery was more especially apparent. Their presence charmed the fiend 
of melancholy in his bosom, and awoke his happiest feelings; it excited the 
powers of his fancy, as well as the tenderness of his heart; and, by restraining 
the vehemence and the exuberance of his language, at times gave to his man- 
ners the impression of taste, and even of elegance, which in the company ol 
men. they seldom possessed. This influence was doubtless reciprocaL 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Original Preface. 

Dedication to Edinburgh Edition 

Memoir 5 

POEMS. 

A Bard's Epitaph 90 

Adam A 's Prayer 138 

A Dedication to Gavin Hamilton, Esq. ... 90 

A Dream 84 

Address of Beelzebub to the President of 

the Highland Society 83 

Address Spoken by Miss Fontenelle on 

her Benefit Night 147 

Address to Edinburgh loi 

Address to the Deil 53 

Address to the Shade of Thomson, on 
Crowning his Bust at Ednam, Rox- 
burghshire, with Bays 137 

Address to the Toothache 118 

Address to the Unco Guid, or the Rigidly 

Righteous 78 

A Mother's Lament for the Death of her 

Son 114 

Answer to a Poetical Epistle sent to the 

Author by a Tailor 67 

A Prayer, Left by the Author at a Rev- 
erend Friend's House, in the Room 

where he Slept 96 

A Prayer in the Prospect of Death 37 

A Prayer under the Pressure of Violent 

Anguish 35 

A Winter Night 63 

Castle Gordon.... 109 

Death and Dr. Hornbook 79 

Telia lis 

Despondency: an Ode 82 

Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson. . . 128 

Elegy on Miss Burnet of Monboddo 134 

Elegy on Peg Nicholson 127 

Elegy on the Death of Robert Dundas, 

Esq., of Arniston in 

Elegy on the Death of Robert Ruisseaux. 38 
Elegy on the Death of Sir James Hunter 

Blair 107 

Elegy on the Year 17S8 115 

Epistle from Esopus to Maria 141 

Epitaph on Holy Willie 44 

Halloween 43 

Koly Willie's Prayer. 43 



PAGB 

Impromptu on Mrs. Riddel's Birthday.... 141 
Invitation to a Medical Gentleman to At- 
tend a Masonic Anniversary Meeting... 92 

Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn 135 

Lament occasioned by the Unfortunate 

Issue of a Friend's Amour 80 

Lament of Mary Queen of Scots on the 

approach of Spring 135 

Liberty: a Fragment 144 

Lines on Fergusson 139 

Lines on Meeting with Lord Daer 100 

Lines sent to Sir John Whitefoord, Bart., 

of Whitefoord 137 

Lines Written in a Wrapper, enclosing a 

Letter to Captain Grose 123 

Lines Written in Friars' Carse Hermitage, 

on the Banks of the Nith 113 

Lines Written in Friars' Carse Hermitage, 

on Nithside 114 

Lines Written on a Bank-Note 93 

Lines Written to a Gentleman who had 

Sent him a Newspaper, and offered to 

Continue it free of Expense 138 

Lines Written with a Pencil over the 

Chimney-piece in the Parlour of the 

Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth io3 

Lines Written with a Pencil, Standing bv 

the Fall of Fyers, near Loch Ness. ! 109 

Man v/as Made to Mourn 49 

Mauchline Belles 39 

Monody on a Lady Famed for her Caprice. 14a 

Nature's Law loS 

Ode : Sacred to the r«Iemory of Mrs. Os- 
wald 115 

Ode to Ruin 83 

Oh, why the Deuce should I Repine 37 

On Scaring some Water-fowl in Loch 

Turit 113 

On Sensibility 139 

On the Birth of a Posthumous Child 134 

On the Death of a Favourite Child 140 

Poem on Pastoral Poetry 143 

Poetical Address to Mr. William Tytlcr. .. no 
Prologue for Mr. Sutherland's Benefit 

Night, Dumfries 126 

Prologue, Spoken at the Theatre, Dum- 
fries, on New-Year's Day Evening, 

1790 124 

Prologue, Spoken by Mr. Woods on his 
Benefit Night ..«..,... .... io4 



PAGE 

Remorse 67 

Scotch Drink 65 

Sketch: Inscribed to the Right Hon. C. 

J. Fox 117 

Sketch — New- Year's Day, 1790. 123 

Sketch of a Character 106 

Sonnet on Hearing- a Thrush Sing in a 

Morning Walk 141 

Sonnet on the Death of Robert Riddel, 

Esq., of Glenriddel 143 

Gtanzas in the Prospect of Death 37 

Stanzas on the Duke of Queensberry 127 

Tam o* Shanter 130 

Tam Samson's Elegy 94 

The Auld Farmer s New- Year Morning 

Salutation to his Auld Mare Maggie, on 

Giving her the Accustomed Rip of Corn 

to Hansel in the New Year 71 

The Author's Earnest Cry and Prayer to 

the Scotch Representatives in the House 

of Commons ? 68 

The Belles of Mauchline 37 

The Brigs of Ayr 96 

The Calf 93 

The Cotter's Saturday Night 50 

The Death and Dying Words of Poor 

Maillie 35 

The Farewell 92 

The first Psalm 38 

The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth 

Psalm 38 

The Hermit 105 

The Holy Fair 86 

The Humble Petition of Bruar Water to 

the Noble Duke of Athole loS 

The Inventory 79 

The Jolly Beggers 55 

The Kirk's Alarm 119 

The Ordination 76 

The Poet's Welcome to his Illegitimate 

Child I02 

The Rights of Woman 139 

The Torbolton Lasses 33 

The Tree of Liberty 144 

The Twa Dogs 72 

The Twa Herds : or. The Holy Tulzie. ... 41 

The Vision 60 

The Vowels : A Tale 137 

The Whistle 120 

To a Haggis 103 

To a Kiss 140 

To a Louse, on Seeing one on a Lady's 

Bonnet at Church 76 

To a Mountain Daisy 80 

To a Mouse 44 

To Captain Riddel of Glenriddel us 

To Chloris 145 

To Clarinda 112 

To Clarinda 112 

To Clarinda 113 

To Clarinda 113 

To Collector Mitchell 147 

To Colonel De Peyster 148 

To John Taylor 116 

To Miss Cruikshank no 

To Miss Ferrier 107 

To Miss Jessy Lewars, Dumfries 148 



PAGE 

To Miss Logan, with Beattie's Poems as 
a New-Year's Gift, January i, 1787 103 

To Mrs. C , on Receiving a Work of 

Hannah Morc's 103 

To the Owl 125 

Tragic Fragment 33 

Verses intended to be Written Below a 
Noble Earl's Picture 103 

Verses on an Evening View of the Ruins 
of Lincluden Abbey 125 

Verses on a Scotch Bard Gone to the 
West Indies 8g 

Verses on Captain Grose's Peregrinations 
through Scotland Collecting the An- 
tiquities of that Kingdom 122 

Verses on Reading in a Newspaper the 
Death of John M'Leod, Esq lofi 

Verses on Seeing a wounded Hare Limp 
by me which a Fellow had just Shot. ... 117 

Verses on the Destruction of the Woods 
near Drumlanrig 146 

Verses to an oid Sweetheart After her 
Marriage 93 

Verses to John Maxwell of Terraughty, 
on his Birthday 137 

Verses to John Rankine 139 

Verses to Miss Graham of Fintry, with a 
Present of Songs 144 

Verses to my Bed 127 

Verses Written under Violent Grief 93 

Willie Chalmers 94 

Winter : a Dirge 35 

EPISTLES. 

Epistle to a Young Friend 164 

Epistle to Davie 150 

Epistle to Dr. Blacklock 171 

Epistle to Gavin Hamilton, Esq 163 

Epistle to Hugh Parker 168 

Epistle to James Smith 161 

Epistle to James Tait of Glcnconner 170 

Epistle to John Goudie, Kilmarnock 153 

Epistle to John Lapraik 152 

Epistle to John Rankine 149 

Epistle to Major Logan 165 

Epistle to Mr. M'Adam of Craigengillan. 165 

Epistle to the Rev. John M'Math 159 

Epistle to William Creech 167 

Epistle to William Simpson 153 

First Epistle to R. Graham, Esq., of Fintry. i6g 
Fourth Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., 

of Fintry 173 

Poetical Invitation to Mr. John Kennedy 163 

Second Epistle to Davie 160 

Second Epistle to Lapraik 153 

Second Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., 

of Fintry 172 

Third Epistle to John Lapraik 158 

Third Epistle to Robert Graham, Esq., of 

Fintry 174 

To the Guid wife of Wauchope House .... 166 

EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, &c. 

A Bottle and an Honest Friend 188 

A Farewell 177 

A Grace before Dinner i83 

.^-Mother's Address to her Infant. , , 187 



CONTENTS. 



T) 



PAGE 

Epigram on Bacon 182 

Epitaph on a Suicide 183 

Epitaph on Robert Aiken, Esq 1S5 

Epitaph on Tam the Chapman 185 

Epitaph on the Author's Father 176 

Epitaph on W 179 

Extempore on Two Lawyers 177 

Extempore on William Smellie 178 

Extempore, Pinned to a Lady's Coach — 183 

Extempore to Mr. Syme 184 

Grace after Dinner 188 

Grace after Dinner 188 

Howlet Face 187 

Innocence 179 

Inscription on a Goblet 184 

Johnny Peep 186 

Lines on Viewing Stirling Palace 17S 

Lines sent to a Gentleman whom he had 

Offended 181 

Lines Spoken Extempore on being ap- 
pointed to the Excise 179 

Lines to John Rankine 188 

Lines Written under the Picture of the 

Celebrated Miss Burns 178 

Lines Written on a Pane of Glass in the 

Inn at Moffat 179 

On a Celebrated Ruling Elder 185 

On a Country Laird 185 

On a Friend 185 

On a Henpecked Country Squire 186 

On a Henpecked Country Squire 186 

On a Henpecked Country Squire 186 

On a Noisy Polemic 186 

On a Noted Coxcomb 186 

On a Person Nicknamed the Marquis 179 

On a Schoolmaster 179 

On a Sheep's Head iSi 

On a Wag in Mauchline 177 

On Andrew Turner i83 

On Burns' Horse being Impounded iSo 

On Captain Francis Grose 180 

On Elphinstone's Translation of Martial's 

" Epigrams " 179 

On Excisemen 183 

On Gabriel Richardson, Brewer, Dum- 
fries 181 

On Gavin Hamilton 185 

On Grizzel Grim 180 

On Incivility shown to him at Inverary.. . 179 

On John Bushby 187 

On John Dove, Innkeeper, Mauchline 176 

On Lord Galloway 182 

On Lord Galloway 182 

On Miss Jean Scott of Ecclefechan 186 

On Mr. Burton iSo 

On Mr. W. Cruikshank 187 

On Mrs. Kemble 182 

On Robert Riddel 183 

On Seeing Miss Fontenelle in a favourite 

Character 181 

On Seeing the Beautiful Seat of Lord 

Galloway 1^2 

On the Death of a Lap-Dog named Echo. iSi 

On the Illness of a Favourite Child 177 

Ou the Kirk of La.Taington,m Clydesdale. 187 



PAGE 

On the Poet's Daughter 184 

On the Recovery of Jessy Lewars 1S8 

On the Sickness of Miss Jessy Lewars — 188 

On Wat 187 

On Wee Johnny 185 

Poetical Inscription for an Altar to Inde- 
pendence 184 

Poetical Reply to an Invitation 177 

Poetical Reply to an Invitation. . < iSo 

The Black-headed Eagle iSi 

The Book-worms 1S2 

The Creed of Poverty 1S3 

The Epitaph 1S2 

The Henpecked Husband 186 

The Highland Welcome 178 

The Parson's Looks 183 

The Parvenu 184 

The Reproof 178 

The Selkirk Grace 1S3 

The Toast 1S4 

The Toast 188 

The True Loyal Natives 183 

Though Fickle Fortune has Deceived Me. 176 

To a Painter 176 

To a Young Lady in a Church • ... 177 

To Dr. Maxwell 183 

To John M'Murdo, Esq iSo 

To John M'Murdo, Esq iSo 

To Lord Galloway 106 

To Miss Jessy Lewars 188 

To Mr. Syme 184 

To the Editor of the Siar 180 

Verses Addressed to the Landlady of the 
Inn at Rosslyn 179 

Verses to John Rankine 181 

Verses Written on a Pane of Glass, on the 
Occasion of a National Thanksgiving 
for a Naval Victory 187 

Verses Written on a Window of the Globe 
Tavern, Dumfries 183^ 

Verses Written on a Window of the Inn 
at Carron 178 

Verses Written under the Portrait of 
Fergusson the Poet 177 

Written in a Lady's Pocket-book 183 

SONGS. 

Address to the Woodlark ...> 283 

Adown Wmding Nith 256 

Ae Fond Kiss 232 

A Farewell to the Brethren of St. James' 

Lodge, Torbolton 201 

A Fragment ig6 

Afton Water 199 

Ah, Chloris ! 265 

Amang the Trees, where Humming Bees. 273 

An Excellent New Song 2S8 

Anna, thy Charms 261 

A Red, lied Rose 259 

A Rosebud by my Early Walk 206 

As I was A-wandering 246 

Auld Lang Syne 213 

Auld Rob Morris 243 

A Vision ..,,,.,.,, , 359 



20 



LJUJNTJiJJNTS. 



PAGE 

Bannocks o' Barley 273 

Behold the Hour 232 

Bess and her Spinning- Wheel 238 

Beware o' Bonny Ann 223 

Blithe Hae I Been 253 

Blithe was She 206 

Blooming Nelly.. 224 

Bonny Dundee 206 

Bonny Lesley 234 

Bonny Peg 244 

Bonny Peg-a-Ramsay 272 

Bonny Peggy Alison 210 

' Braving Angry Winter's Storms 207 

Braw iads 01 Gala Water 214 

Brose and Butter 291 

Bruce's Address to his Army at Bannock- 
burn 257 

By Allan Stream I Chanced to Rove 255 

Caledonia 271 

Caledonia 284 

Canst thou Leave me thus, my Katy ? 26S 

Cassillis' Banks 273 

Ca' the Ewes 229 

Ca' the Yowes 263 

Chloris 264 

Cock up your Beaver 243 

Come Boat me o'er to Charlie 217 

Come, let IVIe Take Thee 256 

Come Rede Me, Dame 227 

Coming through the Braes o' Cupar 276 

Coming through the Rye 278 

Contented wi" Little 268 

Countrie Lassie 239 

Craigie-Burn Wood 235 

Dainty Davie 256 

Damon and Sylvia 291 

Deluded Swain, the Pleasure 258 

Duncan Gray ^ . . . 243 

diza '. 200 

Eppie Adair 227 

Fair Eliza 239 

Fairest Maid on Devon Banks 289 

Fair Jenny 257 

Fareweel to a* our Scottish Fame 249 

Farewell, thou Stream 267 

Forlorn, my Love, no Comfort near 283 

For the Sake of Somebody 260 

Frae the Friends and Land I Love 235 

Fragment — Chloris 284 

Gara Water 250 

Gloomy December 232 

Green Grow the Rashes, O ! 195 

Guid E'en to You, Kimmer. - 277 

Guid wife. Count the Lawin 228 

Had I a Cave 255 

Had I the Wyte 271 

Happy Friendship 244 

Hee Ualou ! 272 

Her Daddie Forbad 215 

Here's a Health to Them that's Awa" 249 

Here's his Health in AVater 273 

Here's to thy Health, my Bonny Lass..., 261 

Her Flowing Locks 274 

Key for a Lass wi' a Tocher, ■ , , 287 



PAGB 

Hey, the Dusty Miller., 213 

Highland Mary 242 

How Cruel are the Parents ! 285 

How Long and Dreary is the Night ! 263 

Hunting Song 290 

I do Confess thou Art sae Fair 237 

I Dream' d I Lay where Flowers were 

Springing 189 

I hae a Wife o' my Ain ^^Sj 

I'll Aye Ca' in by Yon Town 27oi 

I'm o'er Young to Marry Yet 218^ 

Is there, for Honest Poverty 278 

It is na, Jean, thy Bonny Face 141 

Jamie, Come Try me 228 

Jeanie's Bosom 260 

Jenny M'Craw 269 

Jessy 287 

Jockey's ta'en the Parting Kiss 262 

John Anderson, my Jo 223 

John Barleycorn 192 

Katherine Jaffray 290 

Lady Mary Ann 247 

Lady Onlie 205 

Lament, Written at a Time when the Poet 

was about to leave Scotland igS 

Landlady, Count the Lawin 216 

Lassie wi' the Lint- White Locks 266 

Last May a Braw Wooer 283 

Let not Woman e'er Complain 266 

Lines on a Merry Ploughman 269 

Logan Braes 253 

Lord Gregory 250 

Lovely Davies 230 

Lovely Polly Stewart 260 

Luckless Fortune 196 

Macpherson's Farewell 208 

Mark Yonder Pomp 284 

Mary ! 200 

Mary Morison 193 

Meg o' the Mill 277 

Meg o' the Mill 252 

Menie 198 

Montgomery's Peggy 193 

Musing on the Roaring Ocean 209 

My Ain Kind Dearie, 242 

My Bonny Mary 214 

My Collier Laddie 24a 

My Father was a Farmer 1 92 

My Handsome Nell 189 

My Harry was a Gallant Gay 223 

My Heart's in the Highlands 224 

My Heart was ance as Blithe and Free.. . 214 

My Hoggie 217 

My Jean 1 105 

My Lady's Gown, there's Gairs upon't. .. 261 

My Lovelv Nancy 222 

My Love she's biit a Lassie yet 229 

My Nannie, 190 

My Nannie's Awa' 233 

My Peggy's Face 2cy 

My Spouse, Nancy 258 

My Tocher's the Jewel 236 

My Wife's a Winsome Wee Thing 242 

Nithsdale's Welcome Hame 2^9 

Now Spring has Clad tlie Grove in Green. 2SS 



CONTENTS. 



HI 



PAGE 

Of a' the Airts the Wind can Blaw 210 

Oh, Aye my Wife she Dang me 2S1 

Oh, Bonny was Yon Rosy Brier 2S4 

Oh, can ye Labour Lea 229 

Oh for Ane-and-Twenty, Tarn ! 237 

Oh, Guid Ale Comes 276 

Oh, how can 1 be Blithe and Glad ? 236 

Oh, Kenmure's on and Awa' 248 

Oh, Lay thy Loof in Mine, Lass 262 

Oh, Luve will Venture in 240 

Oh, Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet 262 

Oh, Merry hae I been Teething' a Heckle. 227 

Oh, Saw ye my Dearie 245 

Oh, Steer Her Up 272 

Oh, that 1 had Ne'er been Married 289 

Oh, Wat ye Wha's in Yon Town ? 282 

Oh, wat ye what My Minnie did ? 276 

Oh, were I on Parnassus' Hill 211 

Oh, were my Love Yon Lilac fair 253 

Oh. Wert Thou in the Cauld Blast 2S7 

Oh, Wha is She that Lo'es Me? zgi 

Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, my 

Lad 255 

Oh, Willie Brew'd a Peck o' Maut 218 

O Lassie, art thou Sleeping yet ? 279 

On Cessnock Banks 190 

On Chloris being 111 2S3 

On the Seas and Far Away 263 

Open the Door to Me, oh '. 251 

O Philly, Happy be that Day 267 

O Tibbie, I hae seen the Day 100 

Our Thrissles flourished Fresh and Fair. . 226 
Out Over the Forth 259 

PepTgy ig, 

Phillisthe Fair 254 

Rattlin', Roarin' V/illie 217 

Raving Winds around her Blowing 209 

Robin J 6 

Robin Shure in Hairst 290 

Sae Far Awa' 2- , 

Saw ye my Phely ? ." 26- 

Sic a Wife as Willie had .', 24^ 

Simmer's a Pleasant Time 2:!n 

Shelah O'Neil 29° 

She says she Lo'es Me best of a' 267 

She's Fair and Fause 241 

Smiling Spring Comes m Rejoicing.. . .... 241 

Song. 201 

Song, in the Character of a Ruined 

Farmer ^^^ 

Stay, my Charmer „o8 

Strathallan's Lament 200 

Sweetest May 290 

Tam Glen 22s 

The American War so. 

The Banks of Cree 262 

The Banks o' Doon 240 

The Banks of Doon 210 

The Banks of the Devon "." 207 

The Banks of Nith 2-- 

The Battle of KiUiecrankie '.'.'.'.'.'. 22S 

The Battle of Sherii=f-Muir 22:! 

?!!^§K''^^^ Aberfeldy ::.•.:; 204 

The Blue-Eyed Lassie.. 221 

The Bonny Banks of Ayr zo-' 

The Bonny Lass of Albany \'.'.',', 205 



PAGE 

The Bonny Wee Thing 231 

The Braes o' Ballochmyle 197 

The Captain's Lady 227 

The Cardin' o't 269 

The Carle of Kellybum Braes 245 

The Carles of Dysart 278 

The Charming Month of May 266 

The Chevalier's Lament 21a 

The Cooper o' Cuddie 275 

The Cure for all Care 195' 

The Day Returns 212 

The Dean of Faculty 286 

The Deil 's aw' wi' the Exciseman 234 

The Deuk's Dang o'er my Daddie, O 244 

The Discreet Hint 212 

The Dumfries Volunteers 282 

The Farewell. . . ._ 272 

The Fete Champetre 211 

The Five Carlines 220 

The Gallant Weaver 241 

The Gowden Locks of Anna 270 

The Heron Election Ballads — 

Ballad 1 279 

Ballad II 2S0 

Ballad 111. — John Bushby's Lamenta- 
tion 281 

The Highland Laddie 274 

The Highland Lassie jgg 

The Highland Widow's Lament 275 

The Joyful Widower 206 

The Laddies by the Banks o' Nitli 219 

The Lass of Ballochmyle 201 

The Lass of Eccleiechan 275 

The Lass that Made the Bed to me 274 

The Last Braw Bridal 269 

The Last Time I Came o'er the Moor. . . . 253 

The Lazy Mist 213 

The Lovely Lass of Inverness 259 

The Lover's Morning Salute to his Mis- 
tress 264 

The Mauchline Lady zgy 

The Mirk Night 0/ December 233 

Theniel Menzie's'Bonny Mary 215 

The Piper 269 

The Ploughman 216 

The Poor and Honest Sodger 251 

The Rantin' Dog the Daddie o't 197 

There'll never be Peace till Jamie Comes 

Hame 2-0 

There's a Youth in this City 226 

There's News, Lasses, News 292 

There was a Bonny Lass 276 

There was a Lass 109 

There was a Lass, and She was Fair 254 

There was a Wife 292 

The Rigs o' Barley '. ig^ 

The Ruined Maid's Lament 2S9 

The Slave's Lament 247 

The Sons of Old Killie 201 

The Tailor 22? 

The Tither Morn < 244 

The Weary Fund o' Tow 247 

The Winter is Past 218 

The Winter of Life 270 

The Young Highland Itover 209 

This is no my Ain Lassie >.... 286 

Thou hast Left Me Ever 257 

Tibbie Dunbar 222 

To Chloris 265 

To Daunton Me 216 

To Mary 26* 



S8 



COOT^ENTS. 



PAGE 

To Mary in Heaven 219 

'Twas naher Bonny Blue Ee 285 

Up in the Morning Early 217 

Wae is my Heart 261 

Wandering Willie 233 

War Song. 231 

Weary Fa' You, Duncan Gray 215 

Wee Willie Gray. 228 

Welcome to General Dumourier 252 

Wha is that at My Bower-Door ? 269 

What Can a Young Lassie Do ? 236 

When Clouds in Skies do Come together. 196 

When First I Saw Fair Jeanie's Face 221 

When I Think on the Happy Days 290 

When Rosy May Comes in wi' Flowers.. 222 
Whistle, and I'll Come to You, my Lad... 208 

Whistle o'er the Lave o't ." 22S 

Will ye Go to the Indies, my Mary ? 200 

Wilt Thou be My Dearie ? 260 

Women's Minds 229 

Ye hae Lien Wrang, Lassie 226 

Ye Jacobites by Name 246 

Yon Wild Mossy Mountains 237 

Young Jamie, Pride of a' the Plain 277 

Young Jessie 251 

Young Jockey 227 

Young Peggy ig7 

REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 

Absence ,24 

Ah ! the Poor Shepherd's Mournful Fate.. 310 

Allan Water 306 

As I Cam Down by yon Castle Wa' 337 

A Southland Jenny ^-^s 

A uld Lang Syne ,^ . 

Auld Robin Gray „o 

Auld Rob Morris ,2=; 

A Waukrife Minnie 333 

Bess the Gawkie sn^ 

Bide Ye Yet 3?* 

Blink o'er the Burn, Sweet Bettie 309 

Bob o' Dunblane ,^0 

Cauld Kail in Aberdeen 320 

Cease, Cease, my Dear Friend, to Ex- 

_ plore 

Clout the Caldron 296 

Corn-Rigs are Bonny ,1 , 

Cromlet's Lilt 3j j 

Dainty Davie ,,8 

Donald and Flora. .' . .' ii^ 

Down the Burn Davie ^08 

Dumbarton Drums , ..'.,'. ^jq 

Duncan Gray 3jg 

Fairest of the Fair ,02 

Fife, and a" the Lands about it ^r. 

For Lack of Gold ^2^ 

F ye, gae Rub her o'er wi' Strae 298 

Galloway Tam ...,,„.. .,^^ 

Gil Morice , ..■.■."::.■;;; ill 

Gramaciirce i ., 



PAGB 

Here's a Health to my True Love, &c 321 

He Stole my Tender Heart Away 302 

Hey Tutti Taiti 321 

Highland Laddie 301 

Hughie Graham 335 

I Had a Horse, and I Had nae mair 324 

I'll never Leave thee 314 

I wish my Love were in a Mire 305 

Jamie Gay 297 

John Hay s Bonny Lassie 309 

Johnnie's Gray Breeks 299 

Johnnie Faa, or the Gipsy Laddie 323 

Johnnie Cope 329 

Jolin o' Badenyon 332 

Kirk wad Let me be 322 

Laddie, Lie Near Me 328 

Leader-Haughs and Yarrow 327 

Lewie Gordon 313 

Lord Ronald , my Son 337 

Love is the Cause of my Mourning 317 

Mary Scott, the Flower of Yarrow 308 

Mary's Dream 304 

May Eve, or Kate of Aberdeen 303 

Mill, Mill, 319 

My Ain Kind Dearie, 308 

My Dear Jockev 297 

My Dearie, if thou Die 314 

My Jo, Janet 316 

My Tocher's the Jewel 336 

Nancy's Ghost 325 

O'er the Moor amang the Heather 3-;7 

Oh Ono Chrio 314 

Oh, Open the Door, Lord Gregory 294 

Pol wart on the Green 3,5 

Roslin Castle 295 

Sae Merry as we Twa hae been 310 

Saw ye Johnnie Cummin ? quo' she 295 

Saw ye Nae my Peggy ? 296 

She Rose and Let me In 312 

Since Robb'd of all that Charm'd my 

View 322 

Strephonsind Lydia 316 

Tak your Auld Cloak about ye 321 

Tarry Woo 306 

The Banks of Forth 310 

The Banks of the Tweed 294 

The Beds of Sweet Roses 205 

The Black Eagle 3^9 

The Blaithrie o't 302 

The Blithesome Bridal 309 

The Bonny Brucket Lassie 310 

The Bridal o't 331 

The Bush aboon Traquair 311 

The Captive Ribband 331 

The Collier's Bonny Lassie 307 

The Ewie wi' the Crooked Horn 331. 

The Flowers of Edinburgh 297 

The Gaberlunzie Man 323 

Tlie Gentle Swain , , , ^oa 



CONTENTS. 



29 



PAGE 

The Happy Marriage 300 

The Highland Character 327 

The Highland Queen 293 

The Lass of Livingston 299 

The Lass of Patie's Mill 300 

The Last Time I Came o'er the Moor . 299 

The Maid that Tends the Goats 305 

Then, Guidwife, Count the Lawin' 336 

The Posie 304 

There's Nae Luck about the House 306 

The Shepherd's Preference 332 

The Soger Laddie 336 

The Tears I Shed must ever Fall 33S 

The Tears of Scotland 318 

The Turnimspike 301 

The Wauking o' the Fauld 314 

The Young Man's Dream 317 

This is no my Ain House 328 



PAGE 

To Daunton Me 324 

Todlen Hame 332 

To the Rosebud 338 

Tranent Muir 315 

Tullochgorum 333 

Tune your Fiddles, &c 325 

Tweed-side 303 

Up and Warn a', Willie 325 

Waly, Waly 319 

Werena my Heart Light I wad Die 317 

When I upon thy Bosom Lean 326 

Where wad Bonny Annie Lie ?. 336 

Will ye go to the Ewe-Bughts, Marion. . . . 313 

Ye Gods, was Strephon's Picture Blest ?. . . 322 
Young Damon 322 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



ROBERT BURNS. 



TRAGIC FRAGMENT. 

The following lines are thus introduced by 
Burns in one of his manuscripts, printed in 
'■ Cromek's Rchques :" — " In my early years 
nothing less would serve me than courting 
the tragic muse. I was, I think, about 
eigfhteen or nineteen when I sketched the 
outlines of a tragedy, forsooth ; but the 
bursting of a cloud of family misfortunes, 
which had for some time threatened us, 
prevented my further progress. In those 
days I never wrote down anything ; so, ex- 
cept a speech or two, the whole has es- 
caped my memory. The above, which I 
most distinctly remember, v/as an exclama- 
tion from a great character — great m occa- 
sional instances of generosity, and daring at 
times in viilanies. He is supposed to meet 
with a child of misery, and exclaims to him- 
self, as in the words of the fragment " : — 

All devil as I am, a damned wretch, 

A harden'd, ptubborn, unrepenting vil- 
lain. 

Still my heart melts at human wretch- 
edness ; 

And with sincere, though unavailing 
sighs, 

I view the helpless children of distress. 

With tears indignant I behold the op- 
pressor [tion, 

Rejoicing in the honest man's destruc- 

Whose unsubmitting heart was all his 
crime. 

Even you, ye helpless crew, I pity you; 

Ye, whom the seeming good think sin 
to pity ; [bonds. 

Ye poor, despised, abandon'd vaga- 

Whom vice, as usual, has tum'd o'er 
to. ruin. 



■ — Oh, but for kind, though ill-requiE- 

ed, friends, [lorUj 

I had been driven forth like you for- 

The most detested, worthless Avretch 

among you ! 
injured God ! Thy goodness has en- 
dow'd me [peers. 

With talents passing most of my com- 
Which I in just projiortion have abused 
As far surpassing other common vil- 
lains. 
As Thou in natural parts hadst given 
me more. 



THE TORBOLTON LASSES. 

The two following poems, written at difler«nt 
times, give a list of the eligible damsels ia 
the poet's neighborhood : — 

If ye gae up to yon hill-tap, 
Ye'll there see bonny Peggy; 

She kens her faither is a laird. 
And she forsooth's a leddy. 

There Sophy tight, a lassie bright. 
Besides a handsome fortune : 

Wha canna win her in a night. 
Has little art in courting. 

Gae down by Faile, and taste the ale, 

And tak a look o' Mysie ; 
She's dour' and din, a deil within. 

But aiblins'' she may please ye. 



J Obstinate, 



2 Perhaps. 



BUENS' WORKS. 



If she be shy, her sister try, 

"Ye'll maybe fancy Jenny, 
\t ye'U dispense \vi' want o' sense — 

She kens hersel she's bonny. 
As ye gae up by yon hillside, 

Speer' in for bonny Eessy; 
She'll gie ye a beck,^ and bid ye licht, 

And handsomely address ye. 
There's few sae bonnie, nane sae guid, 

In a' King George' Dominion ; 
If ye should doubt the truth o' this — 

It's Bessy's ain opinion. 

In Torbolton, ye ken, there are proper 

young men, 

And proper young lassies and a', man ; 

But ken ye the Ronalds that live in the 

Bennals, [man. 

Tliey carry the gree^ frae them a'. 

Their father's a laird, and weei he can 

spare 't, [man, 

Braid money to tocher* them a', 

To proper young men, he'll clink in the 

hand 

Gow d guineas a hunder or twa, man. 

There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant 

ye've seen 

As bonny a lass or as braw, man; 

But for sense and guid taste she'll vie 

wi' the best, [man. 

And a conduct that beautifies a'. 

The charms o' the min', they langer 

they shine, [man; 

The mair admiration they draw. 

While peaches and cherries, and roses 

and lilies, 

They fade and they wither awa, man. 

If ye be for Miss Jean, tak this frae a 
frien', 
A hint o' a rival or twa, man. 
The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang 
through the fire. 
If that wad entice her awa, man. 

The Laird o' Braehead has been on his 

speed, [man ; 

For mair than a to'mnond^ or twa, 

The Laird o' the Ford will straught on 

a board," 

If he canna get her at a', man. 



' Ask or call. * Bow. = Palm. * Portion. 
^ Twelvemonth. * Die and be stretched on 
B board. 



Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her 
kin. 
The boast of our bachelors a', man; 
Sae sonsy' and sweet, sae fully com- 
plete. 
She steals our affections awa, man. 

If I should detail the pick and the 

wale'^ 

O' lasses, that live here awa, man. 

The fault wad be mine, if they didna 

shine, [man. 

The sweetest and best o' them a', 

1 lo'e hei>mysel, but darena weel tell. 
My poverty keeps me in awe, man, 

For making o' rhymes, and worldng at 
times, 
Does little or naething at a', man. 

Yet I wadna choose to let lier refuse. 

Nor hae't in her power to say na, 

man; [scure, 

For though I be poor, unnoticed, ob- 

My stomach's as proud as them a', 

man. 

Tiio..^h I canna ride in weel booted 

pride, [man. 

And flee o'er the hills like a craw, 

I can haud up my head with the best o' 

the breed, 

Though fluttering ever so braw, man. 

My coat and my vest, they are Scotch 

o' the best, [man, 

O' pairs o' guid breeks I hae twa, 

^ind stockings and pumps to put on my 

stumps, [man. 

And ne'er a wrang steek in them a', 

My sarks* they are few, but five o' 

them new, [man, 

Twal' hundred,'" as white as the snaw, 

A ten-shilling hat, a Holland cravat: 

There are no mony poets sae braw, 

man. 

I never had frien's weel stockit la 

means. 

To leave me a hundred or twa, man; 

Nae weel-tocher'd aunts, to wait on 

their drants," 

And wish them in hell for it a', man. 



■^ Coaiely. « Choice. 
J Shirts. " A kind of cloth. " Humors. 



POEMS. 



35 



r never was cannie'^ for hoarding o' 

money, 

Or clauglitin't'^ together at a', man, 

I've littJe to spend, and naething to 

lend, 

But deevil a shilling'* I awe, man. 



WINTER. 

A DZRGE, 

'Winter? a Dirge," was copied into Bums's 
Commonplace Book in April, 1784, and pre- 
faced with the following reflections : — " As 
1 am what the men of the world, if they 
knew such a man, would call a whimsical 
mortal, I have various sources cif pleasure 
and enjoyment, which are in a manner 
peculiai- to myself, or some here and there 
such out-of-the-way person. Such is the 
peculiar pleasure I take in the season of 
Winter more than the rest of the year. This, 
I believe, may be partly owing to my mis- 
fortunes givnig my mmd a melancholy cast ; 

■ but there is something even in ilie 

' Mighty tempest, and the heavy waste, 
Abrupt, and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried 
earth,' 

which raises the mind to a serious subhmity 
favorable to ever>'thing great and noble. 
There is scarcely any earthly object gives 
me more — I do not know if I should call it 
pleasure — but something Which exaks me — 
something which enraptures me — than to 
walk in the sheltered side of a wood, or high 
plantation, in a cloudy winter-day, and 
hear the stormy wind howling among the 
trees and raving over the plain. It is my 
best season for devotion : my mind is wrapt 
up in a kind of enthusiasm to Him, who, in 
the pompous language of the Hebrew bard, 
'walks on the wings of the wind.' In one 
of these seasons, just after a train of misfor- 
tunes, I composed the foUovv'ing :" — 

The wintry west extends his blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw; [forth 
Or, the stormy north sends driving 

The blinding sleet and snaw; [down, 
While tumbling brown, the burn comes 

And roars frae bank to brae; 
And bird and beast in covert rest, 

And pass the heartless day, 

" The sweeping blast, the sky o'er- 
cast,"* 

The joyless winter-day, ' 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May: 



" Careful. " Gathering greedily. ^* Owe. 
* Dr. Young. 



The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul^ 

My griefs it seems to join; 
The leafless trees my fancy please. 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty 
scheme 

Those woes of mine fulfil. 
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, 

Because they are Thy will ! 
Then all I want (oh,' do Thoti grant 

This one request of mine !) 
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny. 

Assist me to resign. 



A PRAYER, 

UNDER THE .PRESSURE OP VIOLEIT? 
ANGUISH. 

In the Commonplace Book already alluded to 
the following melancholy note accompanies 
this Poem : — " There was a certain period 
of my life that my spirit was broken by re- 
peated losses and disasters, which threat- 
ened, and indeed effected, the utter ruin of 
my fortune. My body, loo, was attacked by 
that most dreadful distemper, a hypochon- 
dria, or confirmed melancholy. In this 
vifretchcd state, the recollection of which 
makes me yet shudder, I hung my harp on 
the willow trees, e.xcept in some lucid inter- 
vals, in one of which I composed this 
Prayer:" — 

O Thou great Being ! what Thou art 

Surpasses me to know: 
Yet sure I am, that known to Thee 

Are all Thy works below. 
Thy creature here before Thee stands. 

All wretched and distrest; 
Yet sure those ills that wring my soul 

Obey thy high behest. 
Sure Thou, Almighty, canst not act 

From cruelty or wrath ! 
Oh, free my weary eyes from tears. 

Or close them fast in death ! 
But if I must aflQicted be. 

To suit some wise design; 
Then man my soul with firm resolves, 

To bear and not repine ! 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS 
OF POOR MAILIE. 

THE author's only PET YOWK 

{An Unco Mournfu' Tale.) 

As Mailie and her lambs thegither 
Was ae day nibbling on the tether, 



88 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Upon lier cloot she coost a liitcli, 
And ovvre she warsled' in the ditcli; 
There, groaning, dying, she did lie, 
When Hughoc he cam doytin'^ by, 
Wi' glovvring een, and lifted han's, 
Poor Hughoc like a statue Stan's; [ed, 
He saw her days were near-hand end- 
But, waes my heart! he couldna mend 

it! 
He gaped wide, but naething spak — 
At length poor Mailie silence brak: — 

" thou, whase lamentable face 
Appears to mourn my woefu' case! 
ily dying words attentive hear, 
And bear them to my master dear. 
Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep. 
Oh, bid him nev^er tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or hair! 
But ca' them out to park or hill, 
And let them wander at their will; 
So may his flock increase, and grow 
To scores o' lambs, and packs o' woo'! 

" Tell him he was a master kin'. 
And aye was guid to me and mine; 
And now my dying charge I gie him — 
My helpless lambs I trust them wi' him. 
" Oh, bid him save their harmless 

lives [knives! 

Frae* dogs, and tods, and butchers' 
But gie them guid cow-milk their fill. 
Till they be fit to fend themsel; 
And tent them duly, e'en and morn 
Wi' teats o' liay, and ripps o' corn, 
" And may they never learn the 

gaets* 
Of ither vile, wanrestfu'^ pets! [steal 
To slink through slaps, and reave and 
At stacks o' peas or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great forbears, 
For mony a year come through the 

shears; 
So wives will gie them bits o' bread. 
And bairns greet'' for them when 

they're dead. [heir, 

"My poor tcwp-lamb, my son and 
Oh, bid him breed him up wi' care! 
And if he live to be a beast, 
To pit some bavins'' in his breast! 
And warn him, what I winna name, 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame; 
And no to rin and wear his clouts,* 

1 Struggled. ^ Walking Stupidly, s From. 

* Habits. * Restless. ^Weep. 'Good sense. 

* Clouts, clothes or rags, with reference to 



Like ither menseless,^ graceless brutes. 

" And neist my yowie, silly thing, 
Guid keep the frae a tether string! 
Oh, may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony blastit,f moorland toop. 
But aye keep mind to moop and mell, 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel! 

' ' And now, my bairns, wi' my last 
breath 
I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith: 
And when you think upo' your mither. 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

"Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail 
To tell my master a' my tale; 
And bid him burn this cursed tether. 
And, for thy pains, thou's get my 

blether."^ 
This said, poor Mailie turned her head. 
And closed her een amang the dead. 

THE ELEGY. 

Lament in rhyme, lament in prose, 
Wi' saut tears trickling down your 

nose: 
Our bardie's fate is at a close. 

Past a' remead; 
The last sad cape-stane of his woes; 

Poor Mailie's dead! 
It's no the loss o' warl's gear. 
That could sae bitter draw the tear. 
Or mak our bardie, dov/ie, wear 

The mourning weed; 
He's lost a friend and neibor dear 

In Mailie dead. 
Through a' the toun* she trotted by 

him; 
A lang half-mile she could descry him; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy 
him 

She ran wi' speed: 
A friend mair faithfu' ne'er cam nigli 
him 

Than Mailie dead. 
I wat she was a sheep o' sense. 
And could behave hersel wi' mense:'" 



8 Senseless. ' Bladder, i* Decorum, 
a piece of clothing with which rams are cum- 
bered at certain seasons, for a purpose which 
will hardly bear full explanation. Mr. Smith, 
in his recent edition of the poet's works, 
misled by the usual spelling of the word-c/oofs, 
which means hoofs or feet, and being appar- 
ently ignorant of this custom, roes the allusion 
of all its broad humor. 

t A contemptuous term. 

* Round the farm. 



I'll say't, she never brak a fence 

Througli thievish greed. 

Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spencef 
Sm Maiiie's dead. 

Or, if he wanders up tlip aowe," 
Her living image in ' - j yowe 
Comes bleatinp- ^ him, owre the 
knovve,'^ 

For bits o' bread; 
And do^vn the briny pearls rowe 

For Mailie dead. 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 

\Vi' tawted ket,'^ and hairy hips; 

For her forbears were brought in ships 

Fiae yont the Tweed: 

A bonnier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clips 

Than Mailie dead, r- , 

[shape 

VVae worth the man wha firet did 

That vile, wanchancie''* thing — a rape! 

It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, J 

Wi' chokin' dread; 
And Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 

For Mailie dead. 

Oh, a' ye bards on bonny Doon! 
And wha on Ayr your chanters tune ! 
Come, join the melancholious croon 

O' Robins reed! 
His heart will never get aboon 

His Mailie dead. 



O WHY THE DEUCE SHOULD I 
REPINE. 

The following is said to have been written 
extempore : — 

WHY the detic? should I repine. 
And be an ill foreboder? 

I'm twenty -three, and five feet nine — 
I'll go and be a sodger. 

1 gat some gear wi meikle care, 

I held it weel thegither; [mair — 
But now it's gane, and something 
I'll go and be a sodger. 



THE BELLES OF MAUCHLINE . 

In Mauchline there dwells six proper 

young belles, [bourhood a'; 

The pride o' the place and its neigh- 



Their carriage and dress, a stranger 
would guess. 
In Lon'on or Paris they'd gotten it a'. 

Miss Miller is fine. Miss Marldiam'3 

divine, [Betty is braw; 

Miss Smith she has v/it, and Miss 

There's beauty and fortune to get wi' 

Miss Morton, [them a'. 

But Armour's the jewel for me o' 



!■ Dell. '- Knoll. i3 Matted fleece. "Unlucky. 

t Shuts himself up in the parlor with his 
sorrow. 

i Grin and gasp — an allusion to hanging. 



A PRAYER 

IN THE PROSPECT OP DEATH. 

" This ' Prayer ' and the ' Stanzas,' which fol • 
lov/,," the poet wrote in his Commonplace 
Book, " were composed when fainting fits., 
and other alarming symptoms of pleurisy, 
or some other dangerous disorder, whicif 
indeed still threatens me, first put natura 
on the alarm. The stanzas are misgiving"? 
in the hour of despondency and prospect ot 
death. The grand end of human life is to 
cultivate an mtercourse with that Being tJ 
whom we owe life with every enjoymeni 
that renders life delightful." 

O Thoxj unknown. Almighty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear, 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour. 

Perhaps I must appear! 
If I have wander'd in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; 
As something, lotidly, in my breast. 

Remonstrates I have done; 
Thou know'st that thou hast form'd 
me 

With passions wild and strong; 
And listening to their witching voice 

Has often led me wrong. 
Where human weakness has come 
short. 

Or frailty stept pside, 
Do Thou, All-good ! for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 
Wliere with intention I have err'd. 

No other plea I have. 
But, Thou art good; and goodness stil) 

Delighteth to forgive. 



STANZAS. 

ON THE SAJIE OCCASION. 

Why am I loth to leave this earthly 

scene? [charms? 

Have I so found it full of pleasing 

Some drops of joy with draughts of ill 

between; [uewing storms 

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid re« 



38 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Is it departing pangs my soul alarms? 
Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark 
abode? [arms; 

For guilt, for guilt, my terrors are in 
I tremble to approacli an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath Ills sin- 
avenging rod. 

Fain would I say, "Forgive my foul 
offence !" 
Fain promise never more to disobey; 
But should my Author health again 

dispense. 
Again I might desert fair Virtue's way; 
Again in folly's path might go astray; 
Again exalt the bVute and sink the 
man; [pray. 

Then how should I for heavenly mercy 
Who act so counter heavenly mer- 
cy's plan? 
Who sin so oft have mourn' d, yet to 
temptation ran, 

O Thou great Governor of all below! 
If I may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 
Thy nod can make the tempest cease 
to blow. 
Or still the tumult of the raging sea; 
With that controlling power assfet 
even me, [confine, 

Those headlong furious passions to 
For all unfit I feel my powers to be. 
To rule their torrent in the allow'd 
line: [tence Divine. 

Oh, aid me with Thy help, Omnipo- 



THE FIRST PSALM. 

The man, in life wherever placed. 

Hath happiness in store. 
Who Avalks not in the wicked's way. 

Nor learns their guilty lore. 

Nor from the seat of scornful pride 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But with humility and awe 
Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the trees. 
Which by the streamlets grow; 

The fruitful top is spread on high. 
And firm the root below, 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt, 
Shall to the ground be cast. 

And, like the rootless sti>bble, tost 
Before the sweeping blast. 



For why? that God the good adore, 
Hath given them peace and rest. 

But liath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest. 



THE FIRST SIX VERSES OF THE 

NINETIETH PSALM. 
Thou, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right hand lias ever been 

Their stay and dwelling-place! 

Before the mountains heaved thei? 
heads 

Beneath Thy forming hand, 
Before this ponderous globe itself. 

Arose at Thy command; 

That power which raised and still up 
holds 

This universal frame. 
From countless unbegiuning time 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast. 
Appear no more before Thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past. 

Thou givest the word; Thy creature, 
man, 

Is to existence brought. 
Again Thou say'st, " Ye sons of men 

Return ye into nought !' 

Thou layest them with all their cares. 

In everlasting sleep; 
As with a flood Thou takest them off 

With overwhelming sweep. 

They flourish like the morning flower^, 

In beauty's pride array 'd; 
But long ere night cut down, it liea 

All wither'd and decay'd. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ROB- 
ERT RUISSEAUX. 

This fragment was found by Cromek among 
the poet's manuscripts. Ruisseaux — a trans- 
lation of his own name — is French for 
rivulets. 

Now Robin lies in his last lair. 

He'll gabble rhyme nor sing nae mair, 

Cauld i)0verty, wi' hungry stare, 

Nae mair shall fear him; 
Nor anxious fear, nor cankert care. 

E'er mair come near him. 



POEMS. 



39 



To tell the trutli, tliey seldom fasLt Ilim, 

Except the moment that they cruslit 

him: ['em, 

For sune as chance or fate liad hasht 

Though e'er sae short. 
Then wi' a rhyme or song helasht 'em, 
And thought it sport. 

Though, he was bred to kintra wark, 
And counted was baith. wight and stark. 
Yet that it v/as never Robin's mark 

To male a man; 
But tell him he was learn'd and dark, 

Ye roGsed him than ! 



>UUCHLINE BELLES. 

O'' .eave novels, ye Mauchline belles ! 

Ye'er safer at your spinning wheel; 
Such witching books are baited hooks 

For rakish, rooks like EobMossgiel.* 

Your fine Tom Jones and Grandisons, 

They make your youthful fancies 

reel; [brains. 

They heat your veins, and fire your 

[giel. 

And then ye're prey for Eob Moss- 
Beware a tongue that's smoothly Imng, 

A heart that warmly seems to feel ; 
That feeling heart but acts a part — 

'Tis rakish art in Rob Mossgiel. 

The frank address, the soft caress. 
Are worse than poison'd hearts of 
steel; 

The frank address and poUtesse 
Are all finesse in Rob Mossgiel. 



DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. 

A TRUE STORY. 

" Death and Dr. Hornbook," says Gilbert 
Burns, " though not pubhshed in the Kil- 
marnock edition, was produced early in the 
year 1785. The schoolmaster of Torbolton 
parish, to eke out the scanty subsistence 
allowed to that useful class of men, set up a 
shop of grocery goods. Having accident- 
ally fallen in with some medical books, and 
become most hobby-horsically attached to 
the study of medicine, he had added the sale 
of a few medicines to his little trade. He 
had got a shop-bill printed, at the bottom of 
which, overlooking his own incapacity, he 
had advertised that advice would be given 

_ in common disorders, at the shop gratis! 



* Rob Mossgiel— Robert Bums of Mossgiel. 



Robert was at a mason-meeting iu Torbol- 
ton, when the dominie made too ostenta- 
tious a display of his medical skill. As he 
parted in the evening from this mixture of 
pedaiitry and physic at the place where he dc- 
scribas his meeting with Death, one of those 
floating ideas of apparitions mentioned in 
his letter to Dr. Moore crossed his mind ; 
this set him to work for the rest of his way 
home. These circumstances he related when 
he repeated the verses to me the next after- 
noon, as I was holding the plough, and he 
was letting the water off the field beside 
me." 
The mirth and amusement occasioned by the 
publication of the poem drove the school- 
master out of the district, and he became 
session-clerk of the Gorbals parish, Glas- 
gow, and died there in 1839. 

Some books are lies f ra end to end 
And some great lies were never penn'd; 
E'en ministers, they hae been kenn'd. 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid' at times to vend, 

And nail't wi' Scrif)ture 

But this that I am gatin'-^ to tell. 
Which lately on a night befell, 
Is jitst as true's the deil's in hell 

Or Dublin city: 
That e'er he nearer comes oursel 

'S a muckle pity. 

The clachan yilP had made me canty, 
I vv'asna fou, but just had plenty; [aye 
I stacher'd* whiles,^ but yet took tent 

To free tlie ditches; [ayo 
And hillocks, stanes and bushes kenn'd 

Frae ghaists and witches. 

The rising moon began to glower^ 
The distant Cumnock hills out-owre; 
To count her horns, wi' a' my power, 

I set mysel; 
But wlietber she had three or four, 

I couldna tell. 

I was come round about the hill. 
And todlin'^ down on Willie's mill,* 
Setting my stait wi' a' my skill. 

To keep me sicker:^ [will, 
Thougli leeward whiles, against my 

I took a bicker. * 

I there wi' something did forgather. 
That put me in an eerie swither;'" 

' Lie. ^. Going. ^ Village ale. ■* Staggered. 
6 Sometimes. ' Stare. '' "Tottering. " Steady. 
° Short race, ^° An uncertain fear. 

* Torbolton Mill, then occupied by Williaiii 
Muir, an intimate friend of the Burns famil/ 
— hence called IViliie's mill. 



40 



BCTETTS WOEKS. 



An awf u' scythe, out-owre ae shoutlier, 
Clear-dangling, hang; 

A three-taedliester'^ on the ither 
Lay large and lang. 

Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells twa, 
1"he queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wame'- it had ava; 

And then its shanks. 
They were as thin, as sharp and sma', 

As cheeks o' branks.* 

" Guid-een," quo' I; " friend, hae ye 

been maw-in', 
When ither folk are busy sawin'?"f 
It seemed to mak a kind o' stau', 
but naething spak ; 
At length, says I, "Friend, whare ye 
gaun ? 

Will ye go back ?" 

It spak right howe,'^ — "My name is 
Death; [faith, 

But be na fley'd,"i*— Quoth I, " Guid 
Ye're maybe come to stap my breath; 

But tent me, billie; 
I red'^ ye weel, take care o' skaith,'^ 

See, there's a gully !"''' 

" Guid man," quo' he, " put up your 

whittle, 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle'^ 

To be mislear'd, '^ 
I wad na mind it, no that spittle 

Out-owre my beard." 

" Weel, Aveel !" says I, " a bargain be't; 
Come, gies your hand, and sae we're 

' gree't; 
We'll ease our shanks"^" and tak a seat — 

Come, gies your news; 
This while | ye hae been mony a gate,^^ 
At mony a house. " 

"Ay, ay, !" quo' he, and shook his 

head, 
•' It's e'en a lang, lang time indeed 



" A fishspear. 
»2 Belly. "Hollow. '^ Frightened, i^ Wa.ru. 
1" Harm. " Clasp-knife. '^ i might be tempted. 
»» Mischievous. ^^ Limbs, '■'i Road. 

* A kind of bridle. 

+ This rencounter happened in seed-time of 
178s.— B. 

t An epidemic fever was then raging in that 
country J— B- 



Sin' I began to nick the thread 

And choke the breath : [bread, 
Folk maun do something for their 
And sae maun Death. 

" Sax thousand years are near hand 

fled 
Sin' I was to the butchering bred, [laid, 
And mony a scheme in vain's been 

To stap or scar me; 
Till ane Hornbook's ta'en up the trade. 

And faith he'll waur me, 

"Ye ken Jock Hornbook i' the clachan, 

Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleu- 

chan r-'^ [Buchan § 

He's grown sao weel acquaint with 

And ither chaps, [laughin'. 

The weans^^ haud out their fingers 

And poulc my hips. ^* 

" See, here's a scythe, and there's a 

dart, 
They hae pierced mony a gallant heart; 
But Doctor Hornbook, v i' his art; 

And cursed skill. 
Has made them baith no worth a f — t, 

Damn'd liaet they'll kill. 

"'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen, 

I threw a noble throw at ane; 

Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain; 

But deil ma care, 

It just play'd dirl on the bane, 

• But did nae mair, 

" Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortified the part. 
That when I looked to my dart. 

It was sae blunt, [heart 
Fient haet o't wad hae pierced the 

0' a kail-runt.^" 

" I drew my scythe in sic a fury, 
I near-hand cowpit'-^^ wi' my hurry. 
Bat yet the bauld apothecary 

Withstood the shock; 
I might as weel hae tried a quarry 

O' hard whin rock. 

' ' Even them he canna get attended. 
Although their face he ne'er had kenn'd 

it. 
Just sh — e in a kail-blade and send it, 

2" Tobacco-pouch. =3 Children. 24 piuclj 
at his hams — show their contempt for hira. 
26 Cabbage-stalk, ^s Tumbled over. 

§ Buchan's Domestic Medicine.— B. 



POEMS. 



41 



As soon's lie sraells't, 
Baitli tlieir disease and wliat will mend 
it 

At ance lie tells't. 

•' And tlien a doctor's saws and whittles. 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, and metals, 
A' kinds o' boxes, mugs, and bottles 

He's sure to liae; 
Their Latin names as fast he rattles 

As A B C. 

" Calces o' fossils, earths, and trees; 
True salinarinum o' the seas; 
The farina of beans and peas, 

He has't in plenty; 
Aquafontis, what you please. 

He can content ye. 

"Forbye some new, uncommon weap- 
ons, • 
Urinus spiritus of capons; [higs, 

Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrap- 

Distill'd 2jer se; 
Salalkali o' midge-tail clippings, 

And mony mae." 

"Waes me for Johnnie Ged's* hole 

noo'," 
Quo' I, if that thae news be true ! 
His braw calf- ward f wliare gowans" 
grew, 

Sae white and bonnie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi'lhepleugh; 
They'll ruin Johnnie !" 

The creature grain'd an eldritch'^^ laugh. 
And says, "Ye needna yoke the pleugli. 
Kirk-yards will soon be till'd eneugh, 

Tak yenae fear. 
They'll a' be trench'd wi' mony a 

sheugh"*'" 

In twa-three year. 

" VTliare I kill'd ane a fair strae death, 
By loss o' blood or want o' breath. 
This night I'm free to tak my aitli, 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last claith, 

By drap and pill. 

•' An honest wabster to his trade, 
Whase wife's twa uieves were scarce 
/ weel- bred. 



^'' Daisies, ^sunearthly. ^^ Furrow. 
* The grave-digger. 

t Tlie church-yard had been sometimes used 
as an enclosure for calves. 



Gat tippence- worth to mend her head 
When it was sair; 

The wife slade cannie to her bed. 
But ne'er spak mair. 

" A country laird had ta'en the batts, 
Or some curmurring in his guts. 
His only son for Hornbook sets. 

And pays him well; 
The lad, for twa guid gimmer-pets,^" 

Was laird himsel. 

" A bonnie lass, ye kenn'd her name, 
Some ill-brewn drinK had lioved lieJ 

wame 
She trusts hersel, to hide the shame, 

In Hornbook's care; 
Horn sent her alf to her lang hame. 

To hide it there. 

"That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's 

way; 
Thus goes he on from day to day, 
Thus does he poison, kill, and slay, 

An's weel paid for't; 
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey 

Wi' his damn'd dirt: 

" But hark! I'll tell you of a plot. 
Though dinna ye be speaking o't; 
I'll nail the self-conceited sot. 

As dead's a herrin'; 
Neist time we meet, I'll wad a groat. 

He's got his fairin' !"^* 

But just as he began to tell. 

The auld kirk hammer strak the bell 

Some wee short hour ayont the twal, 

Which raised us baith: 
I took the way that pleased mysel. 

And sae did Death. 



THE TWA HERDS ; OR, THE 
HOLY TULZIE. 

The Twa Herds were the Rev. John Russell 
assistant minister of Kilmarnock, and after^ 
wards minister at Stirling, and the Rev. 
Alexander Moodie, parish minister at Riccar- 
ton, two zealous " Auld-Licht" men, mem- 
bers of the clerical party to v/hom Burns 
was opposed on all occasions. They had 
quarrelled over some question of parish 
boundaries ; and in the presbytery, where 
the question had come up for settlement, 
they fisll foul of each other after the manner 
of the wicked and ungodly. Mr. Lockhart 
says : — " There, in the open court, to whicb 
the announcement of the discussion had 



''"Young ewes, 



»i Deserts. 



43 



BURNS' WORKS. 



drawn a multitude of the country-people, 
and Burns among the rest, the reverend 
divines, hitherto sworn friends and associ- 
ates, lost all command of temper, and abused 
' each other coram populo^ v/ith a fiery viru- 
lence of personal invective such as has long 
been banished from all popular assemblies 
wherein the laws of courtesy are enforced 
by those of a certain unwritten code." 
Burns seized the opportunity, and in "The 
Twa Herds" gave his version of the affair. 
It is only justice to the poet to mention, 
that he did not include this poem in any of 
tl/e editions of his works published during 
his lifetime. 
" Blockheads with reason wicked wits 

abhor ; 
But fool with fool is barbarous civil 

war." — Pope. 

Oh, a' j'e pious godly flocks, 
Weel fed on pastures orthodox, 
Wlia now ■will keep you frae tlie fox. 

Or worrying tykes,' 
Orwlia will tent the waifs and crocks,- 

About the dilies? 

The twa best herds in a' the wast. 
That e'er gae gospel horn a blast, 
These five and twenty simmers past, 

Oh! dool to tell, 
Hae had a bitter black outcast* 

Atween themsel. 

O Moodie man, and wordy Russell, 
How could you raise so vile a bustle, 
Ye'Il see how New-Light herds will 
Avliistle, 

And think it fine: 
The Lord's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle 
Sin' I hae miu'. 

sirs! vv'hae'er v^-ad hae expeckit. 

Your duty ye wad sae negleckit. 

Ye wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit, 

To wear the plaid, 
But by the brutes themselves elecldt, 

To be their guide. 

What flock wi' Moodie's flock could 

ranlv, 
Sae hale and hearty every slianli ? 
Nae poison'd sour Arminian stank 

He let them taste. 
Frae Calvin's well, aye clear, they 
drank, — 

Oh, sic a feast ! 

The thummart,^ wil'-cat, brock, ^ and 

tod,'i 

' Dogs. - Stray sheep and old ewes. 
'Quarrel. ■'Pole-cat. 'Badger. " Fo.x. 



Weel kenn'd his voice through a' the 

wood. 
He smelt their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in, 
And weel he liked to shed their bluid. 

And sell their skin. 

What herd like Russell tell'd his tale, 
His voice was heard through muir and 

dc-Je, 
He kenn'd the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, 

O'er a' the height. 
And saw gin they were sick or hale. 

At the first sight. 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub. 
Or nobly swing the gospel-club. 
And New-Light herds could nicely 
drub, 

Or pay their skin; [dub. 
Go aid shake them owre the burning 

Or heave them in. 

Sic twa — oh ! do I live to see't, 
Sic famous twa should disagreet. 
And names like "villain," "hypo, 
crite," 

Hk ither gi'en, 
'Wliile Now-Light herds, wi' laughin' 
spite. 

Say neither's liein' !' 

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld. 
There's Duncan,* deep, and Peebles,-)- 

shaul,* 
But chiefly thou, apostle Auld,J 

We trust in thee. 
That thou wilt Avork them, het and 
cauld. 

Till they agree. 

Consider, sirs, how we're beset. 
There's scarce a new herd that we get 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set 

I winna name; 
I hope frae heaven to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 
Dalrymple § has been lang our fae, 

' Lying. 8 Shallow. 

* Dr. Robert Duncan, minister of Dundoo- 
aid. 

t Rev. William Peebles, of Newton-upon 
Ayr. 

X Rev. William Auld, minister of Mauch- 
line. 

§ Rev. Dr. Dalrymple, one of the mmistera 
of Ayr, 



POEMSL 



43 



M,Gni II has wrought us meikle wae, 
And. that cursed rascal ca'd M'Quhae,^ 

And baith the Shaws,** 
That aft hae made us black and blae, 

Wi' veugefu' paws. 

Auld Wodrowf f laug has hatched mis- 
chief, 
We thought aye death wad bring relief, 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him, 
A chiel wha'll soundly buff our beef; 
I meikle dread him. 

And mony a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain would openly rebel, 
Forbye turu-coats amang oursel; 

There's Smith for ane, 
I doubt he's but a gray-nick quill, 

And that ye'U fin'. 

Oh! a' ye flocks o'er a' the hills. 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fells. 

Come, join your counsel and your skills. 

To CO we the lairds. 
And get the brutes the powers themsels 

To choose their herds. 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance, 
And Learning in a woody' dance. 
And that fell cur ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair, 
Be banish'd o'er the sea to France: 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, 
M'Q ill's close nervous excellence, 
M'Quhae's pathetic manly sense, 

And guid M'Math, 
Wi' Smith, wha through the heart can 
glance, 

May a' pack aff. 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 

Theansin of this terrible satire may be briefly 
told as follows: — Gavin Hamilton, the spe- 
cial friend of the poet, had been denied the 
benefit of the ordinances of the church, 
because he was alleged to have made a 
journey on the Sabbath, and to have made 
one of his servants take in some potatoes 
from tne garden on another Sunday — hence 
the allusion to his " kail and potatoes " in 

" Halter. 

i Rev. William M'GiU, one of the ministers 
of Ayr. 

^ Minister of St. Quivox. 
• ** Dr. Andrew Shaw of Craigie, and Dr. 
David Shaw of Coylton. 

+t Dr. Peter Wod'row, Torbolton. 



the poem. William Fisher, one of Mr. Auld's 
elders, made himself somewhat conspicuous 
in the case. He was a great pretender to 
sanctity, and a punctilious stickler for 
outward observances. Poor man, he unfor- 
tunately merited the satire of the poet, as 
he was a drunkard, and latterly m.ade too 
free with the church-money in his hands. 
Returning drunk from Mauchline one night, 
he fell into a ditch and died from exposure. 

Tiiou, wha in the heavens dost dweU, 
Wha, as it pleases best thysel. 
Sends ane to heaven, and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory. 
And no for ony guid or ill 

They've done afore thee ! 

1 bless and praise thy matchless might, 
Whan thousands thou hast left in 

night. 
That I am here, afore thy sight, 

For gifts and grace, 
A burnin' and a shinin' light 

To a' this place. 

What was I, or my generation. 
That I should get sic exaltation ? 
I, wha deserve sic just damnation 

For broken laws. 
Five thousand years 'fore my creation. 

Through Adam's cause. 

\%Tien frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plunged me into hell. 
To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnm' lalce, 
Whare damned devils roar and yell, 

Chain'd to a stake. 

Yet I am here a chosen sample. 

To show thy grace is great and ample; 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple. 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an example. 

To a' thy flock. 

O Lord, thou kens what zeal I bear. 
When drinliers drinlv, and swearers 

swear. 
And singing there, and dancing here, 

Wi' great and sma'; 
For I am keepit by thy fear. 

Free frae them a'. 

But yet, Lord ! confess I must. 
At times I'm fash'd' wi' fleshy last; 
And sometimes, too, wi' Avardly trust. 
Vile self gets in , 



1 Troubled. 



44 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But tliou remembers we are dust. 

Defiled in sin. 
D Lord ! yestreen, tliou kens, wi' Meg — 
Thy pardon I sincerely beg, 
Oh, may it ne'er be a livin' plague. 

To my dishonor, 
And I'll ne'er lift a lawless leg 

Again upon her. 
Besides, I farther maun avow, 
Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times 1 trow 
But, Lord, that Friday I was fou' 

When I came near her, 
Or else, thou kens, thy servant true 
Wad ne'er hae steer'd her. 

Maybe thou lets this fleshy thorn 
.Beset thy servant e'en and morn. 
Lest he owre high and proud should 
turn, 

'Cause he's sae gifted; 
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne 

Until thou lift it. 
Lord, bless thy chosen in this place. 
For here thou hast a chosen race: 
But God confound their stubborn face. 

And blast their name, 
V/ha bring thy elders to disgrace 

And pu-blic shame. 
Lord, mind Gawn Hamilton's deserts, 
He driulcs, and swears, and plays at 

cartes. 
Yet has sae raony takin' arts, 

Wi' grit and sma', 
Frae God's aiu priests the people's 
hearts 

He steals awa'. 
And whan we chasten'd him therefore. 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore,''^ 
As set the world in a roar 

0' laugliin' at us; — 
Curse thou his basket and his store, 

Kail and potatoes. 
Lord, hear my earnest cry and prayer 
Against the presbj't'ry of Ayr; 
Tiiy strong right hand. Lord, mak it 
bare 

Upo' their heads, 
Lord,weigh it down, and dinna spare. 

For their misdeeds. 
O Lord, my God, that glib-tongued 
Ai]cen,* 

- Disturbance. 
* William Aiken, a lawyer, a friend of the 
poet's. 



My very heart andesaulare quakin', 
To think how we stood groanin'; 
shakin'. 

And spat wi' dread, 
While he, wi' hangin' lip and snakin',' 

Held up his head. 

Lord, in the day of vengeance try him, 
Lord, visit them wha did employ him. 
And pass not in thy mercy by 'em. 

Nor hear their prayer; 
But for thy people's sake destroy 'em. 

And dinna spare. 

But, Lord, remember m^e and mine, 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine, 
That I for gear and grace may shine, 

Excell'd by nane, 
And a' the glory shall be thine, 

Amen, Amen ! 



EPITAPH ON HOLY WILLIE. 

Heke Holy Willie's sair worn clay 

Taks up its last abode: 
His saul has ta'en some other way, 

I fear the left-hand road. 

Stop ! there he is, as sure's a gun. 

Poor silly body, see him; 
Nae wonder he's as black's the grun,— 

Observe wha's standing wi' him ! 

Your brunstane devilship, I see. 
Has got him there before ye; 

But haud your nine-tail cat a wee,' 
Till ance ye've heard my story. 

Your pity I will not implore. 

For pity ye ha nane ! 
Justice, alas ! has gien him o'er. 

And mercy's day is gane. 

But hear me, sir, deil as ye are, 
Look something to your credit; 

A coof' like him wad stain your name, 
If it were kent ye did it. 



TO A MOUSE, 

ON TURNING UP HER NEST "WITH THE 

PLOUGH, NOVEMBER, 1785. 

" The verses to the ' Mouse' and ' Mountain 
Daisy,' " Gilbert Burns says, " were com- 
posed on the occasions mentioned, and 
while the author was holding the plough: 



'■' Sneering. ' Little. ^ Fool. 



POEMS. 



45 



1 could point out the particular spot where 
each was composed. Holding the plough 
was a favorite situation with Robert for 

- poetic compositions, and some of his best 
verses were produced while he was at that 
exercise." 

"John Blane," says Mr. Chambers, " who was 
farm-servant at Mossgiel at the time of its 
composition, still (1S38) lives at Kilmarnock. 
He stated to me that he recollected the inci- 
dent perfectly. Burns was holding the 
plough, with Blane for his driver, when the 
little creature was observed running ofic 
across the field. Blane, having the/fW/^, or 
plough-cleaning utensil, in his hand at the 
moment, was thoughtlessly running after it, 
to kill it, when Bu'rns checked him, but not 
angrily, asking what ill the poor mouse had 
ever done him. The poet then seemed to 
his driver to grow very thoughtful, and, 
during the remainder of the afternoon, he 
spoke not. In the night time he awoke 
Blane, who slept with him, and, reading the 
poem which had in tlie meantime been com- 
posed , asked v/hat he thought of the mouse 
now." 

Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie, 
Oil, wliat a panic's in thy breastie ! 
Tliou needna start awa' sae liasty, 

Wi' bickering brattle !' 
I wad be laitKto ria and chase thee, 

Wi' murd'ring pattle '.'^ 

I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
Has broken nature's social union, 
And justifies that ill oinniou 

Which maks thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion, 

And fellow-mortal ! 

[ doubt na, whiles,^ but thou may 
thieve; [live! 

Wliat then 1 poor beastie, thou maun 
A dalmen icker in a thrave* 

'S a sma' o request: 
I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave,* 

And never miss't ! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa's the win's are stre\vin' ! 
And naething now to big^ a new ane 

0' foggage green ! 
And bleak December's winds ensuin' 

Baith snelP and keen ! 

Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste. 
And weary winter comin' fast. 



1 Hurrying run. "^ Pattle or Pettle, the 
plough spade. ^ Sometimes. ^ Remainder. 

/ Build. 6 Sharp. 

* An ear of corn in a thrave— that is, twen- 
ty-four shfcaves. 



And cozie' here, beneath the blast. 

Thou thought to dwelL 

Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 
Out through thy ceil. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble 
Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble, 

Buf^ house or liauld,*' 
To thole'" the winter's sleety dribble, 

And cranreuch" cauld. 

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane. 
In proving foresight may be vain; 
The best laid schemes o' mice and men 

Gang aft a-gley, 
And lea'e us nought but grief and pain 

For promised joy. 

Still thou art blest, compared wi' me ! 
The present only toucheth thee. 
But, och ! I backward cast my ee 

On prospects drear ! 
And forward, though I canna see, 

I guess and fear. 



HALLOWEEN. 

The following poem will, by many readers, 
be well enough understood ; but for the 
sake of those who are unacquainted with 
the manners and traditions of the country 
where the scene is cast, notes are added, to 
give some account of the principal charms 
and spells of that night, so big with proph- 
ecy to the peasantry in the west of Scot- 
land. The passion of prying into futurity 
makes a striking part of the history of 
human nature in its rude state, in all ages 
and nations ; and it may be some entertain- 
ment to a philosophic mind, if any such 
should honor the author with a perusal, to 
see the remains of it among the more unen- 
lightened in our own. — B. 

" Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train ; 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art. ' 
— Goldsmith. 

Upon that night, when fairies light 
On Cassilis Downans f dance, 

Or owre the lays', in splendid blaze, 
On sprightly coursers prance; 

Or for Colean the route is ta'en. 
Beneath the moon's pale beams; 

• Comfortable, s Without. ^ Holding. »<> En- 
dure. '' Hoar-frost. 

1 Fields. 

t Certain little, romantic, rocky, green hills, 
in the neighborhood of the ancient seat of the 
Earli 01 Cassilis.— B. 



46 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Tliere, up the cove, X to stray and rove, 
Among the rocks and streams 
To sport that night 

Among the bonny winding banks. 

Where Doon rins, wimplin', clear, 
Where Bruce § aace ruled the martial 
ranks, 

And shook his Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, country-folks, 

Together did convene, [stocks. 

To burn their nits, aud pou'^ their 

And haud their Halloween 

Fu' blithe that night. 

The lasses feat,^ and cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when the re' re fine; 
Their faces blithe, fu' sweetly kythe,'* 

Hearts leal,* and wann, and kin': 
The lads sae trig,'' wi' wooer-babs,' 

Weel knotted on their garten, 
Some unco blate,** and some wi' gabs,^ 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin' 
Whiles fast at night. 

Then, first and foremost, through the 
kail, 
Their stocks I maun a' be sought ance; 
They steek'° their een, and graip'^ and 
wale,'^ 
For muckle anes and straught anes. 
Poor hav'rel'3 Will fell afE the drift. 

And wander'd through the bow-kail. 
And pou't, for want o' better shift. 



2 Pull. 5 Trim. * Show. ^ True. ' Spruce. 
7 Double loops. « Bashful. ^ Talk. i» Close, 
ii Grope. 12 Choose. " Half-witted. 

t A noted Cavern near Colean-house, 
called the Cove of Colean ; which, as well as 
Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story 
for being a favorite haunt of fairies. — B. 

§ The famous family of that name, the ances- 
tors of Robert Bruce, the great deliverer of 
his country, were Earls of Carrick. — B. 

1 The first ceremony of Halloween is pulling 
each a stock or plant of kail. They must go 
out, hand in hand, with eyes shut, and pull 
the first they meet with ; its being big or little, 
straight or crooked, is prophetic of the size 
and shape of the grand object of all their 
spells — the husband or wife. If any yird, or 
earth stick to the root, that is tocher or for- 
tune, and the taste of the custoc, that is, the 
heart of the stem, is indicative of the natural 
tem.perand disposition. I.astly, the stems, or, 
to give them their ordinary appellation, the 
runts, are placed somewhere above the head 
of the door ; and the Christian names of the 
people whom chance brings into the house, 
arc, according to the priority of placing the 
runts, the names in question. — B. 



A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't'"* that night. 

Then, straught or crooked, yird or 
nane. 

They roar and cry a' throu'ther; 
The very wee things, todlin','* rin, 

Wi' stocks out-owre their shouther; 
And gif the custoc's sweet or sour. 

Wi' joctelegs^'' they taste them; 
Syne cozily,*' aboon the door, [ihen 

Wi' cannie"* caie, they've plactJi 
To lie that night. 

The lasses staw" frae 'mang them a' 

To pou their stalks o' corn :* 
But Rab slips out, and jinks about, 

Behint the muckle thorn: 
He grippet Nelly hard and fast; 

Loud skirl'd-" a' the lasses; 
But her tap-pickle maist was lost. 

When kitlin"'^ in the fause-house f 
Wi' him that night. 

The auld guidwife's weel-hoordit nitsj 

Are round and round divided. 
And monie lads' and lasses' fates 

Are tliere that night decided: 
Some kindle coothie,'-'^ side by side. 

And burn thegither trimly; 
Some start awa, wi' saucy pride. 

And jump out-owre the cliiuilie 
Fu' high that night. 

Jean slips in twa wi' tentie ee; 

Wha 'twas she wadna tell; 
But this is Jock, and this is me. 

She says in to hersel : [him. 

He bleezed owre her, and she owre 

As they wad never mair part; 



1^ Crooked. ^^ Tottering. ^^ Clasp-knives. 
''Comfortably. i8 Gentle. "Stole. ^A Scream- 
ed. 21 Cuddling. " Agreeably. 

* They go to the barn-yard and pull each 
at three several times, a stalk of oats. If the 
third stalk v/ants the top-pickle, that is, the 
gram at the top of the stalk, the party in gues« 
tion will come to the marriage-bed anything 
but a maid. — B. 

+ When the corn is in a doubtful state, by 
being too green or wet, the stack-builder, by 
means of old timber, &c., makes a large apart- 
ment in his stack, with an opening in the side 
which is fairest exposed to the wind ; this he 
calls a fause-house. — B. 

t Burning the nuts is a famous charm. 
They name the lad and lass to each particular 
nut, as they lay them in the fire, and, accord- 
ingly as they burn quietly together, or start 
from beside one another, the course and issue 
of the courtship will be— li. .. - - -- - - 



POEMS. 



4? 



Till, faff ! lie started up tlie lum,'^^ 
And Jean had e'en a sair heart 
To see't that night. 

Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail runt. 
Was brunt \vi' primsie Mallie; 

An d Mallie, nae doubt, took the 
drunt,'^^ 
To be compared to Willie; 

Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu' fling, 

And her ain fit it brunt it; 
While Willie lap, and swore by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 
To be that night. 

Nell had the fause-house in her min', 

She pits hersel and Eob in ; 
In loving bleeze tliey sweetly join, 

Till white in ase they're sobbin'; 
Nell's heart was dancin' at the view, 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: 
Rob, stowlins, prie'd-'^ her bonny raou', 

Fu' cozie'-'' in the neuk for't. 
Unseen that night. 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; 
She lea'es them gasliin"-' at their cracks, 

And slips out by hersel: 
She through the yard the nearest taks. 

And to the kiln goes then. 
And darklins graipit for the bauks,^* 

And in the blue-clue* throws then. 
Right f ear't that night. 

And aye she vi^in't,'^' and aye she swat, 

I wat she made nac jaukin',-* 
Till something held within the pat. 

Quid Lord ! but she was quakin'! 
But whether 'was the deil himsel, 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She didna wait on talkin' 

To spier^^ that night. 

Wee Jenny to her grannie says. 



-2 Chimney. ^^ Pet. -* Stealthily kissed. 
^^ Snua;ly. ^^ Talking. ^^ Cross-beams. 
83 Winded. so Dallying. 3i Inquire. 

* Whoever would, with success, try this 
spell, must strictly observe these directions : 
—Steal out, all alone, to the kiln, and dark- 
ling, throw into the j3ot a clue of blue yarn ; 
v/ind it in anew clue off the old one; and, 
towards the latter end, something will hold 
the thread, demand, " Wha hauds?" — i.e., 
who holds ? An answer will be returned from 
the kiln-pot, by naming the Christian and sur- 
name of your future spouse. — B, 



" Will ye go wi' me, grannie ? 
I'll eat the applef at the glass 

I gat frae Uncle Johnnie: ' 
She fuff't her })ipe wi' sic a lunt,^^ 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin'. 
She notice't na, an aizle'-^ brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out through that night. 
" Ye little skelpie-limmer's face ! 

I daur you try sic sportin', 
As seeic the foul thief ony place, 

For him to spae^* your fortune, 
Nae doulit but ye may get a sight I 

Great cause ye hae to fear it; 
For mony a ane has gotten a fright. 

And lived and died deleeret 
On sic a night. 
" Ae hairst afore the Sherramoor,— • 

I niind't as weel's yestreen, 
I was a gilpcy"^ then, I'm sura 

I wasna past fifteen; 
The simmer had been cauld and waii 

And stuff was unco green; 
And aye a rantin' kirn"'' we gat, 

And just on Halloween 

It fell that night. 
"Our stibble-rig was Eab M'Graen, 

A clever sturdy fallow: 
His son gat Eppie Sim wi' wean. 

That lived in Achmacalla: 
He gat hemp-seed, |: I mind it weel. 

And he made unco light o't; 
But mony a day was by himsel, 

He was sae sairly frighted 

That very night." 
Then up gat fechtin' Jamie Fleck, 

And he swore by his conscience, 

^ 

32 Smoke. ^^ Cinder. '* Foretell. 

35 Young Girl. '* Harvest home. 

t Tal<e a candle, and go alone to a looking- 
glass ; eat an apple before it, and, some tra, 
ditions say, you should comb your hair all the 
time; the face of your conjugal companion to be 
will be seen m the glass, as if peeping over 
your shoulder. — B. 

i Steal out, unperce!ved,and sow a handful 
of hemp-seed, harrying it with anything you 
can conveniently draw after you. Repeat now 
and then, " Hemp-seed, I saw thee ; hemp- 
seed, I saw thee ; and him (or her) that is 
to be my true love, come after me and pc'C 
thee." Look over your left shoulder, and you 
will see the appearance of the person invokec", 
in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some trad.i 
tions say, " Come after me and shaw thee," 
that is, show thyself ; in which case it simply 
appears. Others omit the harrowing, and say, 
" Come after me and harrow thee.' — B. 



48 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Tliat lie could saw liemp-seed a peck ; 

For it was a' but uonsense. [pock, 
Tlie aukl guidman rauglit^'' down tlie 

And out a lianfa' gied liim; 
§yne bade him slip frae 'mangthe folk, 

Some time when nae ane see'd him. 
And try't that night. 
He marches through amang the stacks. 

Though he was something sturtin;^** 
The graip^^ he for a harrow taks. 

And haurls-*" it at his curpin;'*' 
And every now and then he says, 

" Hemp-seed, I saw thee. 
And her that is to be my lass, 

Come after me, and draw thee 
As fast this night." 
He whistled up Lord Lennox' march 

To keep his courage cheery; 
Although his hair began to arch, 

He was say fley'd'*'' and eerie: 
Till presently he hears a squeak. 

And then a grane and gruntle; 
He by his shouther gae a keek, 

And tumbled wi' a wintle*^ 

Out-owre that night. 
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout. 

In dreadfu' desperation ! 
And young and auld cam runnin' out 

To hear the sad narration; 
He swore 'twas hilchin*' Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie'*^ Merran Humphie, [a' — 
Till, stop ! she trotted through them 

And wha was it but grumphie*^ 
Asteer that night ! 
Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen. 

To win three wechts'*'' o' naething;* 
But for to meet the deil her lane. 

She pat but little faith in: 

5^ Reached. '^ Timorous. ^' Dung-fork. 
*<> Drags. ^» Rear. «» Frightened. ^'■< Stagger. 
■>* Hahing. ^^ Crookbacked. *« The pig. 
■" Corn-baskets. 

* This charm must likewise be performed un- 
perceived and alone. You go to the barn, and 
open both doors, taking them off the hinges, 
if possible ; for there is danger that the being 
about to appear may shut the doors, and do 
you some mischief. Then take that instru- 
ment used in winnowing the com, which in 
our country dialect we call a wecht ; and go 
through all the attitudes of letting down corn 
against the wind. Repeat it three times ; and 
tl'.e third time an apparition will pass through 
the barn In at the windy door, and out at the 
other, having both tlie figure in question, and 
the appearance or retinue marking the em- 
ployment or station in life,— B. 



She gies the herd a pickle-^* nits, 
And two red-cheekit apples, 

To watch, while for the barn she sots-, 
In hopes to see Tam Kipples 
That very nicht. 

She turns the key wi cannie'*'' thraw. 

And owre the threshold ventures; 
But first on Sawnie gies a ca' 

Syne bauldly in she enters: 
A ratton rattled up the wa', 

And she cried. Lord, perserve her I 
And ran through midden-hole and a'. 

And pray'd wi' zeal and fervour, 
Fu' fast that night; 

They hoy't^^* out Will wi' sair advice; 

They^' hecht him some fine braAv ane; 
It chanced the stack he faddom't thricef 

Was timmer-propt for thrawin'; 
He taks a swirlie,^'^ auld moss-oak. 

For some black grousome^^ carlm ; 
And loot a winze, ^'^ and drew a stroke. 

Till skin in blypes^= cam haurlin' 
AfE's nieves^'' that night. 

A wanton "widow Leezie was. 

As canty as a kittlin; 
But, och! that night amang the shaws,^'' 

She got a fearfu' settlin'! [cairn, 

She through the whins,"*^ and by the 
And owre the hill gaed scrievin, [burn;]: 
Whare three lairds' lands met at a 

To dip her left sark-sleeve in. 

Was bent that night. 

Wliyles owre a linn the burnie plays, 
As through the glen it winipl't;-'^ 

Whyles round a rocky scaur"'' it strays; 
Whyles in a wieP' it dimpl't; 



^» Few. ■»» Gentle, ^o Urged, ^i Promised. 
" Knotty. S3 Hideous. ^^ Oath. ^^ Slireds. 
5« Hands, s' Woods, ^^ Gorse. *^ Wheeled. 
"0 Cliff. " Eddy. 

t Take an opportunity of going unnoticed 
to a bean-stack, and fathom it three times 
round. The last fathom of the last time, you 
will catch in your arms the appearance of 
your future conjugal yoke-fellow. — B. 

i You go out, one or more, for this is a social 
spell, to a south-running spring or rivulet, 
where " three lairds' lands meet, and dip your 
left shirt-sleeve. Go to bed in sight of a fire, 
and hang your wet sleeve before it to dry. 
Lie awake ; and, some time near midnight, an 
apparition having the exact figure of the 
grand object in question, will come and turn 
the sleeve, as if to dry the other side of it.— 
B. 



POEMS. 



9S 



Wliyles glitter'd to tlie nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; 
Wliyles cookit underneatli the braes, 

Below the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that night. 
Amang the brackens, on the brae, 

Between her and the moon. 
The deil, or else an outler quey,®' 

Gat up and gae a croon :*>'- 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the hool !^^ 

Near lav'rock-height she jumpit; 
But mist a fit, and in the pool 

Out-owre the lugs she pluuipit, 

Wi" a plunge that night. 
In order, on the clean hearth-stane, 

The luggies thr8e|| are ranged, 
And every time great care is ta'en' 

To see them duly changed: 
Auld Uncle John, wha wedlock joys 

Sin' Mar's year did desire. 
Because he gat the toom" dish thrice, 

He heaved them on the fire 

In wrath that night. 
Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks, 

I wat they didna weary; 
And unco tales, and funny jokes. 

Their sports were cheap and cheery; 
Till butter'd so'ns,§ \>t.' fragrant lunt,*'* 

Set a' their gabs*^ a-steerin'; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,*'' 

They parted aff careerin' 

Fu' blythe that night. 



MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 

A DIRGE. 

" Several of the poems," says Gilbert Burns, 
" were produced for the purpose of bring- 
ing forward some favourite sentiment of the 

^' Unhoused heifer. '-Moan. "3 Burst its 
case. ^'i Empty. ^* Smoke. "" Mouths. 
*' Spirits. 

5 Take three dishes ; put clean water in 
one, foul water in another, leave the third 
empty : blindfold a person, and lead Jum to 
the hearth where the dishes are ranged ; he 
(or she) dips the left hand : if by chance in the 
clean water, the future husband or wife will 
come to the bar of matrimony a maid : if in the 
foul, a Widow , if in the empty dish, it foretells, 
with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It 
is repealed three times, and every time the 
arrangement of the dishes is altered.— B. 

§So\VENS. — The shell of the corn (called, in 
the rural districts, sliellings) is steeped in 
water until all the fine meal particles are ex- 
tracted ; the liquid is then strained off, and 
boiled with milk and butter until it thickens. 



author's. He used to remark to me that he 
could not well conceive a more mortifying 
picture of human life than a man seeking 
work. In casting about in his mind how 
this sentiment might be brought forward, 
the elegy. ' IMan was Made to Mourn,' was 
composed." 
An old Scottish ballad had suggested the form 
and spirit of this poem. " 1 had an old 
grand-uncle," says the poet to Mrs. Dunlop, 
"with whom my mother lived awhile in 
her girlish years. The good old man v. . 
long blind ere he died, during which time 
his highest enjoyment was to sit down and 
cry, while my mother would sing the simple 
old song of ' The Life and Age of Man.' " 
From the poet's mother, Mr. Cromek pro- 
cured a copy of this composition ; it com- 
mences thus : — 

" Upon the sixteen hundred year 
Of God and fifty-three 

Frae Christ was born, who bought us dear^ 
As writings testify ; 

On January the si.xieenth day, 
As I did lie alone, 

With many a sigh and sob did say 
Ah ! man was made to moan !" 

When chill November's surly blast 

Jlade fields and forests bare, 
One evening, as I wander'd forth i 

Along the banlcs of Ayr, 
I spied a man whose aged step 

Seem'd weary worn with care; 
His face was f urrow'd o'er with years. 

And hoary was his hair. 

"Young stranger, whither wanderesfe 
thou ?" 

Began the reverend sage; [strain, 
' ' Does thirst of wealth thy step cou- 

Or youthful pleasures rage ? 
Or haply, prest with cares and woes. 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth with me to mourn 

The miseries of man. 

" The Sun that overhangs yon moors. 

Outspreading far and ^^4de, 
Wliere hundreds labour to support 

A haughty lordling's pride- 
I've seen yon weary winter sun 

Twice forty times return. 
And every time has added proofs 

That man was made to mourn. 
' ' O man ! while in thy early years. 

How prodigal of time ! 
Misspending all thy precious hours. 

Thy glorious youthful prime I 
Alternate follies take the sway; 

Licentious passions burn; 
Which tenfold force gives nature's law,. 

That man was made to mourn. 



50 



BURNS' WORKS. 



" Look not alone on youthful prime. 

Or manhood's active might; 
) an then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right, 
But see him on the edge of life, 
With cares and sorrows worn; 
Then age and want — oh ! ill match'd 
pair ! — 
Show man was made to mourn. 

" A few seem favourites of fate. 

In pleasure's lap carest; 
Yet think not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest. 
But, oh ! what crowds in every land 

Are wretched and forlorn ! 
Through weary life this lesson learn — 

That man was made to mourn. 

"Many and sharp the numerous ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselves — 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heaven-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn, 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 

" See yonder poor, o'erlabour'd wight, 

So abject, mean, and vile, 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil; 
And see his lordly fellow-worm 

The poor petition spurn, 
Unmindful, though a weeping wife 

And helpless offspring mourn. 

" If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave — 

By nature's law design'd — 
Why was an independent Avish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, why am I subject to 

His cruelty or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and power 

To make his fellow mourn ? 

"Yet let not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast; 
This partial view of human land 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppress'd, honest man. 

Had never, sure, been born, 
'7 k1 there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn. 

" Death ! the poor man's dearest 

friend — 
i The kindest and the best ! 



Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn; 
But, oh ! a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn !" 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY 
NIGHT. 

INSCKIBED TO KOBERT AIKEN, ESQ. 

Gilbert Burns gives the following distinct, 
account of the origin of this poem ; — " Rob- 
ert had frequently remarked to me that he 
thought there was something peculiarly- 
venerable in the phrase, ' Let us worship 
God !' used by a decent, sober head of a 
family, introducing family worship. To this 
sentiment of the author, the world is indebt- 
ed for ' The Cotter's Saturday Night.' 
When Robert had not some pleasure in viev/ 
in which I was not thought !it to partici- 
pate, we used frequently to walk together, 
when the weather was favourable, en the 
Sunday afternoons— those precious breath- 
ing times to the laboring part of the com- 
munity — and enjoyed such Sundays as 
would make one regret to see their number 
abridged. It was in one ot these walks that 
I first had the pleasure of hearing the author 
repeal 'The Cotter's Saturday Night.' I do 
not recollect to have read or heard anything 
by which I was more highly electrified. 
The fifth and sixth stanzas, and the eigh- 
teenth, thrilled with peculiar ecstasy through 
my soul. The cotter, in the ' Saturday 
Night,' is an exact copy of my father in his 
manners, his family devotion, and exhorta- 
tions ; yet the other parts of the description 
do not apply to our family. None of us 
were ' at service out among the farmers 
loun'.' Instead of our depositing our 
'saii-won penny-fee' with our parents, my 
father laboured hard, and lived with the most 
rigid economy, that he might be able to 
keep his children at home, thereby having 
an opportunity of watching the progress of 
our young minds, and forming in them early 
habits of piety and virtue ; "and from this 
motive alone did he engage in farming, the 
source of all his difficuirie's and distresses. 

" Let not ambition mock their useful toil. 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile 
The short but simple annals of the poor.' 
— Gray. 

My loved, myhonor'd, much -respected 

friend ! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays; 

With honest pride, I scorn each selfish 

end: " [and praise: 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem 



pomis. 



5. 



To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays, 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd 

scene; [less ways: 

The native feelings strong, the guile- 

What Aiken in a cottage would have 

been; [happier there, I ween ! 

Ah ! though his worth unknown, far 

November chill blaws loud wi' angry 

sugh;' [close; 

The short'nmg vdnter-day is near a 

The miry beasts retreating frae the 

pleugh; [their repose; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to 

The toil-worn cotter frae his labour 

goes, [end, 

This night his weekly moil is at an 

Collects his spades, his mattocks, an.:! 

his hoes, [Si:er.d, 

Hoping the morn in ase and rest to 

And, weary, o'er the moor his course 

does hameward bend. 

At length his lonely cot appears in view 
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee things, toddlin', 
stacher through [noise and glee. 
To meet their dad, wi' flichterin' 
His wee bit ingle, blinking bounily, 
His clean hearthstane, his thrifty 
wifie's smile. 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 
Does a' his weary carking cares be- 
guile, [and l;is toil. 
And makes him quite forget his labour 

Belyve,^ the elder bairns come drapping 
in, [roun': 

At service out among the farmers 
Some ca' the pleugh, some herd, some 
tentie rin 
A canme errand to a neibor town : 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman 
grown, [her ee, 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in 
Comes hame, perhaps to show a braw 
new gown. 
Or deposit her sair-won penny fee. 
To help her parents dear, if they in 
hardship be. 

Wi' joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters 

meet, spiers;^ 

And each for other's welfare Idndly 

* Moan. ^ By and by. ^ Inquires. 



The social hours, swift-wing'd unnotic- 
ed, fleet; [hears; 
Each tells the uncos'* that he sees ot 
The parents, partial, eye their hopeful 
years; 
Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle and hel 
shears, [the new — 
Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 
Their master's and their mistress's 
command, 
The younkers a' are warned to obey; 
And mind their labours wi' an eydeut* 
hand, [jaulc^ or play: 
And ne'er, though out o' sight, to 
" And oh ! be sure to fear the Lord al- 
way ! [night ! 
And mind your duty, duly, morn and 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang' 
astray [might-. 
Implore Ilis counsel and assisting 
They never sought in vain that sought 
the Lord aright !" 

But, hark ! a rap comes gently to the 

door, [same, 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the 

Tells how a neibor lad cam o'er the 

moor, [hame. 

To do some errands, and convoy her 

The wily mother sees the conscious 

flame [cheek, 

Sparkle in Jenny's ee, and flush her 

Wi' heart-struck anxious care, inquires 

his name, [speak; 

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to 

Weel pleased the mother hears it's nae 

wild, worthless rake. 
Wi' kindly welcome, Jenny brings him 
ben; [er's eye; 

A strappin' youth ; he taks the moth- 
Blithe Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en; 
The father cracks of horses, pleughs, 
and kye. [wi' joy. 

The youngster's artless heart o'erflows 
But blate' and lathefu',*" scarce can 
Aveel behave; [spy 

The mother, Avi' a Avoman' wiles, can 
What makes the youth sae bashf u' 
and sae grave; 
Weel pleased to think her bairn's re. 
spected like the lave,* 



■• Strange thing's. ^ Diligent. « Dally 
' Bashful. " Hesitating. * Other people. 



52 



BTIRNS' WORKS. 



I Oil happy love ! — wliere love like this 

•is found ! — [j'ond compare 1 

Oh heart-felt raptures ! — bliss be- 

I've paced much this vi^eary, mortal 

round, [declare — 

And sage experience bids me this 

"If Heaven a draught of heavenly 

pleasure spare. 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 

•Tis when a youthful, loving, modest 

pair, [tender tale. 

In other's arms, breathe out the 

Beneath the milk-white thorn, that 

scents the evening gale." 
Is there, in human form, that bears a 
heart, [truth ! 

A wretck ! a villain ! lost to love and 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring 
art, youth ? 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting 
Curse on his perjured arts ! dissem- 
bling smooth ! [exiled ? 
Are honour, virtue, conscience, all 
Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. 
Points to the parents fondling o'er 
their child ? [distraction wild ! 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their 

But now the supper crowns their sim- 
ple board, [Scotia's food: 
The halesome parritch,'" chief of 
The soupe" their only hawkie'^ does 
afford, [her cood: 
That 'yont the hallan'^ snu^y chows 
The dame brings forth, in complinien- 
tal mood, [kebbuck,^-* fell,'^ 
To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd 
And aft he's prest, and aft he ca's it 
guid: [tell, 
The frugal wifie. garrulous, will 
How 'tAvas a towTnond'" auld, sin' lint 
was i' the bell. 

The cheerfu' supper done, wi' serious 

face, [wide; 

They, round the ingle, form a circle 

The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal 

grace, [pride; 

The big ha' Bible, ance his father's 

His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside. 

His lyart haifets^' wearing thin and 

bare; [Zion glide. 

Those strains that once did sweet in 



'"Porridge. "Milk. '2 Cow. "3 Porch. 
'* Cheese. '^ Biiing. i^ Twelvemonth. 
*' Gray temples. 



He wales'"* a portion with judicioua 

care; [with solemn air. 

And " Let us worship GqDj" he eays, 

They chant their artless notes in simple 
guise; [noblest aim; 

They tune their hearts, by far the 
Perhaps "Dundee's" wild- warbling 
measures rise, [the name; 

Or plaintive "Martyrs," worthy of 
Or noble " Elgin" beets the heaven- 
ward flame, [lays : 
The sweetest far of Scotia's holy 
Compared with these, Italian trills are 
tame; [raise; 
The tickled ear no heartfelt raptures 
Nae unison hae they with our«<Jxeator'3 

praise. 
The priest -like father reads the sacred 
page, [on high; 

How Abram was the friend of Gon 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Amalek's ungracious progeny; 

Or how the royal bard did groaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's 

avenging ire [cry; 

Or Job's pathetic plaint, and waning 

Or rapt Isaiah's ■wild seraphic fire; 
Or other holy seers that tune the sacred 

lyre. 
Perhaps the Christian volume is the 
theme, [was shed; 

How guiltless blood for guilty man 
How He, who bore in heaven the 
second name, [His head: 

Had not on earth whereon to lay 
How His first followers and servants 
sped; [a land: 

The precepts sage they wrote to many 
How he, who lone in Patmos banish'd. 
Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand; 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pro- 
nounced by 
Heaven' ^ command. 
Then kneeling down, to Heaven'3 
ETERNAL KiNG, [band prays: 
The saint, the father, and the hus- 
Hope "springs exulting on triumphant 
wing,"* [future day.s: 

That thus they all shall meet in 
There ever bask in uncreated rays, 
No more to sigh or shed the bittei 
tear, 



'" Selects. 
* Poue'b " Windsor Forest," 



POEMS. 



53 



Together hymning their Creator's 
praise, 
In such society, yet still more dear; 
While circling time moves round in an 

eternal sphere. 
Compared with this, how poor re- 
ligion's pride, [art, 
In all the pomp of method and of 
When men display to congregations 
wide [heart ! 
Devotion's every grace, except the 
The Power, incensed, the pageant will 
desert [stole: 
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal 
But, haply, in some cottage far apart, 
May hear, well pleased, the language 
of the soul; [enrol. 
And in his book of life the inmates poor 

Then homeward all take off their sev • 

eral way; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest • 

The parent-pair their secret homage 

pay, [request 

And proffer up to heaven the warm 

That He, who stills the raven's clamor- 

I ous nest, [pride, 

And decks the lily fair in flowery 

Would, in the way His wisdom sees the 

best, [provide; 

For them and for their little ones 

But, chiefly, in their hearts v/ith grace 

divine preside. 

From scenes like these old Scotia's 
grandeur springs, [ered abroad: 
That makes her loved at home, rev- 
Princes and lords are but the breatli of 
kings, [of GoD;" 

' ' An honest man's the noblest work 
And certes, in fair virtue's heavenly 
road, [liind. 

The cottage leaves the palace far be- 
What is a lordling's pomp? — a cum- 
brous load, [Icind, 
Disguising oft the wretch of human 
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness 

refined ! 
O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! 
For whom my warmest wish to 
Heaven is sent ! 
Long may thy hardy sons of rustic 
toil. 
Be blest with health, and peace, and 
sweet content ! [lives prevent 
And, oh ! may Heaven their simple 



From luxury's contagion, weak and 

vile ! [rent. 

Then, howe'er crown and coronets be 

A virtuous populace nipy rise the 

while, [much-loved isle. 

And stand a wall of fire around their 

Thou ! who pour'd the patrio-tic tide 

That stream'd through Wallace's 

undaunted heail; [pride. 

Who dared to nobly stem tyrannic 

Or nobly die, the second glorious 

part, 

(The patriot's God, peculiarly ThcHi art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and 

reward !) 

Oh, never, never, Scotia's realm desert; 

But still the patriot, and the patriot - 

bard, [ment and guard ! 

In bright succession raise, her orna- 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

" Oh prince ! Oh chief of many throned 
powers, 
That led th' embattled seraphim to war '." 
— Milton. 

THOU ! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Hornie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie,* 
Wha in yon cavern grim and sootie. 

Closed under hatches, 
Spairgesf about the brunstane cootie,:]: 

To scaud poor wretches ! 
Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee. 
And let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can^gie, 

E'en to a deil , 



* A well-known term applied to Satan in 
Scotland in allusion to his hoofs or cloots. 

t Spair^es is the best Scots word in its 
place I ever met with. The deil is not stand- 
ing flinging- the liquid brimstone on his 
friends with a ladle, but we see him standing 
at a large boilmg vat, with something like "a 
golf-bat, striking the liquid this way and that 
way aslant, with all his might, making it fiy 
through the whole apartment, v/hile the in- 
mates are wmkin^ and holding up their arms 
to defend their faces. This is precisely the 
idea conveyed by spairgiiig : flinging it in any 
other way would be laving or splashing.—" 
The Ettrick Shepherd. 

X The legitimate meaning of this word is a 
frnall wooden tub ; here it implies not only 
£hc utensil, b^lt liquid brimstone ; just as a 
Coper talks of his canor his cngic^ meaning 
both the liquor and the utensil In which it is 
held. 



54 



BURNS' WORKS. 



To skelp and scaud poor dogs like me, 
And hear us squeel I 

Great is thy power, and great thy 

f ajne ; 
Far kenn'd and noted is thy name : 
And though yon lowin' heugh's' thy 
hame, 

Thou travels far ; [lame, 
And, faith ! thou's neither lag nor 

Nor blate nor scaur. '■* 
"Whyles ranging lilte a roaring lion, 
For prey a' holes and corners tryin' ; 
Whyles on the strong-wing'd tempest 
tiyin', 

Tirlin'^ the kirks ; 
Whyles in the human bosom pryin', 

Unseen thou lurks. 

I've heard my reverend grannie say, 
In lanely glens ye like to stray : 
Or where auld ruin'd castles, gray. 

Nod to the moon, 
Ye fright the nightly wanderer's way 

Wi' eldritch croon.'* 

Wlien tAvilight did my grannie sum- 
mon, [woman ! 
To say her prayers, douce, honest 
Aft yont the dike she's heard you 
bummin', 

Wi' eerie drone ; 
Or, rustlin', through the boortries^ 
comin', 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, [light, 
The stars shot down wi' sklentin' ^ 
Wi' you, myself, I gat a fright 

Ayont the lough ; 
Te, lilie a rash- bush, stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sough. 

The cudgel in my nieve' did shake. 
Each bristled hair stood like a stake. 
When wi' an eldritch, stoor quaick, 
quaick, 

Amang the springs, 
Av/a' ye squatter'd, like a drake, 

On whistling wings. 

Let warlocks grim, and wither'd hags, 
Tell how wi' you, on ragweed nags, 
They skim the muirs and dizzy crags, 
Wi' wicked speed ; 



' Burning pit, " Apt to be frightened. ^ Un- 
covcrinjT. '> Unearthly inoan. * Elder-trees. 
6 Glancing, ^ Fist. 



And in kirk -yards renew their leagues 
Owre howkit** dead. 

Thence countra wives, wi' toil and 
pain, [vain : 

May plunge and plunge the kirn in 
For, oh ! the yellow treasure 's ta'en 

By witching skill ; 
And dawtit^ twal-pint hawkie's gaen 

As yell's' the bill. 
Thence mystic knots mak great abuse 

[crouse j 
On young guidmen, fond, keen, and 
When the best wark-lume i' the 
house. 

By cantrip wit. 
Is instant made no worth a louse. 

Just at the bit. 

When thowes dissolve the snawy 

hoord, 
And float the jinglin' icy boord. 
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord, 

By your direction ; 
And 'nighted travellers are allured 

To their destruction. 
And aft your moss-traversing spun- 
kies § [is : 

Decoy the wight that late and drunk 
The bleezin', curst, mischievous mon- 
keys 

Delude his eyes. 
Till in some miry slough he sunlv is, 

Ne'er mair to rise. 
Wlien mason's mystic word and grip 
In storms and tempests raise you up, 
Some cock or cat your rage maun stop. 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught to hell ! 
Lang syne, in Eden's bonnie yard. 
When youthfu' lovers first were 

pair'd. 
And all the soul of love they shared. 

The raptured hour. 
Sweet on the fragrant flowery sward. 

In shady bower. || 



8 Disinterred. » Petted. " Milkless. | 
§ Will o' the wisp. 
IThis verse ran originally thus : — 
Lang syne in Eden's happy scene 
When strappin' Adam's days were green. 
And Eve was like my bonnie Jean, 
My dearest part, 
A dancin', sweet, young, handsome queea, 
Wi' guileless heart. 



POEMS. 



fill 



Then you, ye auld sneck - drawing 

dog in 
Ye came to Paradise incog. , 
And play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa' !) 
And gied tlie infant warld a sliog,'^ 

'Maist ruin'd a'. 

D'ye mind that day, when in a bizz,^^ 
Wi' reekit duds, '^ and reestit gizz,'* 
Ye did present your smoutie^^ pliiz 

'Mang better folk, 
And sklented"' on the man of Uzz 

Your spitef u' joke ? 

And how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
And brak him out o' house and hall. 
While scabs and blotches did him gall, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
And lowsed his ill-tongued, wicked 
scawl,'^ 

Was warst ava ? 

But a' your doings to rehearse. 
Your -wily snares and fechtin' fierce. 
Sin' that day Michael did you pierce, 

Down to this time. 
Wad ding a Lallan'* tongue or Erse,'^ 

In prose or rhyme. 

And now old Cloots, I ken ye're thinkin', 
A certain Bardie's rantin', drinkin'. 
Some luckless hour will send him. 
liokin' 

To your black pit; 
But, faith, he'll turn a corner jinkin'j^" 

And cheat you yet. 
But, fare yon weel, auld Nickie-ben ! 
Oh, wad ye tak a thought and men' ! 
Ye aiblins"' might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake — 
I'm wae to think upo' yon den, 

Even for your sake ! 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 

A CANTATA. 

This famous poem, or rather drama, is found- 
ed on a scene actually witnessed by the 
poet. In company with his friends, John 
Richmond and James Smith, he was pass- 



im Shake. '^ Hurry. '^ Smoked clothes. 
*^ Sinped h?iir. '^ Dirty. '^Glanced. " Scold- 
ing wife. '* Lowland. '' Celtic, ^u Dodging. 
*i Perhaps. 

*Y Literally, withdrawing a latch burglar- 
iously — here it means taking an advantage — 
getting: into Paradise on false pretences. 



ing' Poosie Nansie's, when their attention 
being attracted by sounds of mirth and jol- 
lity proceeding from the interior, they enter- 
ed, and were rapturously welcomed by the 
motle band of beggars and tinkers carousing 
there. Burns proiessed to have been great- 
ly delighted with the scene, more especially 
with the jolly behaviour of a maimed old 
soldier. In a few days he recited portions 
of the poem to John Richmond, who used 
to speak of songs by a sweep and a sailor 
which did not appear in the completed man- 
uscript. 

RECITATIVO. 

Wlien lyart^ leaves bestrew the yird,^ 
Or wavering like the baukie-bird,^ 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast; 
When hailstanes drive wi' bitter skyte,* 
And infant frosts begin to bite. 
In hoary cranreuch" drest; 
Ae night at e'en a merry core 

0' randie, gangreP bodies. 
In Poosie Nansie's held the splore,' 
To drink their orra duddies:^ 
Wi' qitaffing and laughing. 

They ranted and they sang; 
Wi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera girdle* rang. 
First, neist the fire, in auld red rags, 
Aue sat, weel braced wi' mealy bags. 

And knapsack a' in order; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae and blankets warm — 

She blinket on her sodger: 
And aye he gied the tozie drab 

The tither skelpin' kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab, 
Just like an aumos dish.f 

Ilk smack still, did crack still, 
Just like a cadger's :j: whup. 
Then staggering and swaggering 
He roar'd this ditty up — ■ 

AIR. 

Tune — " Soldiers' Joy." 

I am a son of Mars, who have been Ir 
many wars. 



1 Gray. « Earth. 3 The bat. * Dash 
5 Thin white frost. ^ Vagrant. ^ Merry meet- 
ing. 8 Odd garments. 

* A circular iron p!ate, on which, when 
hung over the fire, oaten cakes are baked. 

t The aumos, or beggar's dish, was a wood- 
en platter or bowl, which every mendicant 
carried in the olden time as part of his pro- 
fessional accoutrements. It was used to re- 
ceive the aumos or alms in the shape of oat 
meal, broth, milk, or porridge. 

} A cadger is a vendor of various kinds of 
merchandise, who employs a horse or ass in 
carrying about his wares from ^lace to placCi 



56 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And sliow my cuts and scars wherever 
I come: 

Tliis here was for a wench, and that 
other in a trench. 

When welcoming the French at the 
sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

My 'prenticeship I past where my lead- 
er breathed his last. 

When the bloody die is cast on the 
heights of Abram ; § 

I served out my trade when the gallant 
game was play'd 

And the Moro || low was laid at the 
sound of the drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 

I lastly was with Curtis, among the 
floating batteries, ^ fa limb; 

And there I left for witness an arm and 

Yet let my country need me, with Elliot 
**toheadme, [of the drum. 

ITl clatter on my stumps at the sound 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

And now though I must beg v.'ith a 
wooden arm and leg, [my bum, 

And many a tatter'd rag hanging over 

I'm as happy with my wallet, my bot- 
tle and my callet, [drum. 

As when I used in scarlet to follow a 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

What though with hoary locks I must 
stand the winter shocks. 

Beneath the woods and rocks often- 
times for a home, 

When tlie t'other bag I sell, and the 
t'other bottle tell, [of a drum. 

I could meet a troop of hell at the sound 
Lai de daudle, &c. 

KECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars^ sheuk 
Aboon the chorus roar; 



» Rafters. 
§ The battle-field in front of Quebec, where 
General Wolfe fell in the armSof victory in 

1759- 

II El Moro, a strong castle defending Havan- 
nah, which was gallantly stormed when the 
city was taken by the British in 1762. 

4 The destruction of the Spanish floating 
batteries during the famous siege of Gibraltar 
in 1782, on which occasion the gallant Captain 
Curtis rendered the most signal service. 

** George Augustus Elliot, created Lord 
Heathfield, for his memorable defence of Gib- 
raltar, during the siege of three years. He 
died in 1790, 



While frighted rattons^°backward leuk. 
And seek the benmost" bore; 

A fairy fiddler frae the neuk, 

He skirled out " Encore " 
But up arose the martial chuck. 

And laid the loud uproar. 



Tune — " Soldier laddie." 
I once was a maid, though I cannot teQ 

when, [men ; 

And still my delight is in proper young 
Some one of a troop of dragoons waa 

my daddie. 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &c. 
The first of my loves was a swaggering 

blade, [trade; 

To rattle the thundering drum was his 
His leg was so tight, and his cheek was 

so ruddy, [laddie. 

Transported I was with my sodger 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the godly old chaplain left him in 
the lurch, [the church; 

The sword I forsook for the sake of 

He ventured the soul, and I risk'd the 
body, [laddie. 

'Twas then I proved false to my'sodger 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified 
sot, [got; 

The regiment at large for a husband I 

From the gilded spontoon to the fife I 
was ready, 

I asked no more but a sodger laddie. 
Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 

But the peace it reduced me to beg in 

despair, [fair, 

Till I met my old boy at a Cunningham 

His rags regimental they flutter'd so 



My heart it rejoiced at a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 
And now I have lived — I know not how 

long. 

And still I can join in a cup or a song; 

But whilst with both hands I can hold 

the glass steady, [laddie. 

Here's to thee, my hero, my sodger 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c. 



1" Rats, 



11 Innermost. 



POEMS. 



57 



RECITATIVO. 

Poor merry Andrew in tlie neuk, 

Sat guzzling wi' a' tinkler liizzie; 
They mind't na wlia tlie chorus teuk, 

Eetween tliemselves tliey were sae 
busy ; 
At length wi' drink and courting dizzy 

He stoiter'd up and made a face; 
Then turn'd and laid a smack on Griz- 
zle, [grimace: — 

Syne tuned his pipes wi' grave 



Tune — ' ' Auld Sir Sjonon. " 
SirWisdom's a fool when he's fou, 

Sir Knave is a fool in a session ; 
He's there but a 'prentice, I trow, 

But 1 am a fool by profession. 

My grannie she bought me a beuk, 
And I held awa' to the school; 

I fear I my talent misteuk, 

But what will ye hae of a fool ? 

For drink I would venture my neck, 
A hizzie's the half of :ny craft, 

But what could ye other expect. 
Of ane that's avowedly daft ? 

I ance was tied up like a stirk,'^ 
For civilly swearing and quaffing! 

I ance was abused in the kirk. 
For touzling'^ a lass i' my daffin." 

Poor Andrew that tumbles for sport, 
Let naebody name wi' a jeer; 

There's even, I'm tauld, i' the court 
A tumbler ca'd the Premier. 

Observed ye yon reverend lad 
Mak faces to tickle the mob 1 

He rails at our mountebank squad — 
It's rivalship just i' the job. 

And now my conclusion I'll tell, 
For faith I'm confoundedly dry; 

The cliiel that's a fool for himsel, 
Gude Lord ! he's far dafter than I. 

RECITATIVO. 

Then neist outspak a rauclc carlin,'^ 
Wha keu't fu' weel to cleek the ster- 
ling, 
For monie a pursie she had hookit, 
And had in monie a well been doukit. 



" Bullock. '3 Rumpling 
»» Stout Bedlam. 



•■' Merriment. 



Her dove had been a Highland laddie, 
But Aveary fa' the waefu' woodie !"" 
Wi' sighs and sobs she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highland- 



TuNE — " Oh, an ye were Dead, Guid- 
man !" 

A Highland lad my love was born. 
The Lawlandlaws he held in scorn; 
But he still was faithfu' to his clan. 
My gallant braw John Highlandmaa 

CHORUS. 

Sing, hey my braw John Highlandmari. 
Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman, 
There's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandman. 

With his philabeg and tartan plaid, 
And guid claymore down by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman 
Sing, hey, &c. 

We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
And lived like lords and ladies gay; 
For a lawland face he feared none. 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

They banished him beyond the sea, 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 

But, oh ! they catch'd him at the lastj 
And bound him in a dungeon fast; 
My curse upon them every one, 
They've hang'd my braw John High 
landman. 

Sing, hey, &c. 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return; 
Nae comfort but a hearty can, 
When I think on John Highlandman 
Sing, hey &c. 

KECITATIVO. 
A pigmy scraper, wi' his fiddle, 
Wha used at trysts and fairs todriddle,'' 
Her strappin' limb and gaucy middle 

(He reach'd nae higher) 



'» The gallov^s. 



Play. 



68 



BURNS' WOKKS. 



Had lioled liis lieartie like a riddle, 
And blawn't on fire. 

Wi' liand on liauncli, and upward ee, 
He croon'd liis gamut, one, two, three, 
Then in an arioso key. 

The wee Apollo, 
Set off wi' allegretto glee 

His giga solo. 

AIR. 

Tune — " Whistle owre the lave o't." 
Let me ryke'^ up to dight^^ that tear, 
And go wi' me and be my dear. 
And then your every care and fear 
May whistle owre the lave o't. 
CHORUS. 
I am a fiddler at my trade. 
And a' the tunes that e'er I played, 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was whistle owre the lave o't. 

At kirns and weddings we'se be there. 
And oh ! sae nicely 's we will fare; 
We'll bouse about till Daddy Care 
Sings whistle owre the lave o't. 
I am, &c. 

Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, 
And sun oursels about the dike. 
And at our leisure, when ye like. 
We'll v/histle owre the lave o't. 
I am, &c. 

But bless me wi' your heaven o' charms, 
And while I kittle hair on thairms. 
Hunger, cauld, and a' sic harms. 

May whistle owre the lave o't. 

I am, &c. 
EECITATIVO. 
Her charms had struck a sturdy caird,^" 

As wee] as poor gut-scraper; 
He taks the fiddler by the beard, 

And drows a roosty rapier — 

He swore by a' was swearing worth. 
To speet him like a pliver,:]::}: 

LJnless he wad from that time forth 
Eelinquish her for ever. 

Wi' ghastly ee, poor Tweedle-dee 
Upon his hunkers'^' bended. 

And pray'd for grace wi' ruefu' face. 
And sae the quarrel ended. 



" Reach, i" Wipe. 20 Tinker. 21 Hams. 
I tt To spit him Ulie a plover. 



But though his little heart did grieve 
When round the tinkler press'd her. 

He feign'd to snirtle''*- in his sleeve. 
When thus the caird address'd her: — 

AIR. 
Tune — " Clout the Caudron." 
My bonny lass, I work in brass, 

A tinkler is my station: 
I've travell'd round all Christian ground 

In this niy occupation. 
I've ta'en the gold, I've been enroH'd 

In many a noble squadron: [march'd 
But vain they search'd, when off I 
To go and clouf^^ the caudron, 

I've ta'en the gold, &c. 

Despise that shrimp, that wither'd imp, 

Wi' a' his noise and ca'prin', 
And tak a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron. 
And by that stoup, my faith andhoup, 

And by that dear Kilbagie, 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, 

May I ne'er weet my cragie."-''* 

And by that stoup, &c. 

RECITATIVO. 

The cnird prevail'd — the unblushing 
fair 

In his embraces sunlc. 
Partly wi' love, o'ercome sae sair. 

And partly she was drunk. 
Sir Violino, with an air 

That sliow'd a man of spunlc, 
Wish'd unison between the pair. 

And made the bottle clunk 

To their health that night. 

But urchin Cupid shot a shaft 

That play'd a dame a shavie,'^^ 
The fiddler raked her fore and aft, 

Ahint the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's craft,** 

Though lijuping wi' the spavie. 
He hirpled up, and lap like daft. 

And sliored'^'^ them Dainty Davie 
O' boot that night. 
He was a care-defying blade 

As ever Bacchus listed, 
Though Fortune sair upon him laid. 

His heart she ever miss'd it. 
He had nae wish but — to be glad. 

Nor want but — when he thirsted; 

22 Laugh. 23 Patch. 2-1 Throat. ^^ A 
tnck. 20 A ballad-singer. .27 Offered. 



POEMS. 



59 



He liatecl nought but — to be sad, 
And tlius the muse suggested 
His sang that niglit. 

AIR. 

TtJNE — " For a' that, and a' that." 
I am a bard of no regard, 

Wi' gentle folks, and a' that: 
But Homer-like, the glowrin' byke,^^ 

Frae town to town I draw that. 

CHORUS. 
For a' that, and a' that. 

And twice as muckle's a' that; 
I've lost but ane, I've twa beliin', 

I've wife eneugh for a' that. 

I never drank the Muses' stank,^* 
Castaiia's burn, and a' that; 

But there it streams, and richly reams, 
My Helicon, I ca' tliat. 

For a' that, &c. 

Great love I bear to a' the fair. 
Their humble slave, and a' that; 

But lordly will, I hold it still 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that, &c. 

In raptures sweet, this hour we meet, 
Wi' mutual love, and a' that: 

But for how lang the flee may stang, 
Let inclination law that. 

For a' that, &c. 

Their tricks and craft hae )ut L..e daft. 
They've ta'en me in, ana ^. that; 

But clear your decks, and here's the 
sex ! 
I like the jads for a' that. 

CHORUS. 

For a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as muckle's a' that; 
My dearest bluid, to dothemguid. 
They're welcome till't for a' that. 

RECITATIVO. 
So sang the bard — and Nansie's wa's 
Shook wi' a thunder of applause. 
Re-echoed from each mouth; 
They toom'd their pokes and pawn'd 

their duds. 
They scarcely left to co'er their fads, 
To quench their lowin' drouth,^*' 

*« The staring crowd. ** Pool. '" Burning 
thirst. 



Then owre again, the jovial thrang. 

The poet did request, 
To loose his pack and wale^' a sang, 
A ballad o' the best; 
He, rising, rejoicing. 

Between his two Deborah s. 
Looks round him, and found them 
Impatient for the chorus. 



Tune. — " Jolly Mortals, fill youi 

Glasses." 
See ! the smoking bowl before us, 

Mark our jovial ragged ring ! 
Round and round take up the chorus. 

And in raptures let us sing. 

CHORUS. 

A fig for those by law protected I 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected. 
Churches built to please the priest. 

What is title ? what is treasure ? 

What is reputation's care ? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Tis no matter how or where ! 

A fig, &c. 

With the ready trick and fable. 
Round we wander all the day: 

And at night, in barn or stable. 
Hug our doxies on the hay. 

A fig, &c. 

Does the train-attended carriage 
Through the country lighter rove ? 

Does the sober bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of love? 
A fig, &c. 

Life is all a variorum. 

We regard not how it goes, 
Let them cant about decorum 

Who have characters to lose. 

A fig, &c. - 

Here's to budgets, bags, and wallets ! 

Here's to all the wandering train ! 
Here's our ragged brats and callets I 

One and all cry out — AiXien ! 

A fig for those by law protected 1 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Churches built to please the prir st. 

— , f 

*' Choose. 



60 



BURNS' WORKS. 



THE VISION. 

This beautiful poem depicts, m the highest 
strain of poetical eloquence, a struggle 
■which v/as constantly going on in the poet's 
mind between the meanness and poverty of 
his position and his higher aspirations and 
hopes of mdependence, which he found it 
impossible ever to realize. It must have 
been evident to his mind that poetry alone 
was not to elevate him above the reach of 
worldly cares ; yet m this poem, as in many 
others, he accepts the poetical caUingasits 
own sweet and sufficient reward. In the 
appearance of the Muse of Coila, the matter 
is settled after a fashion as beautiful as po- 
etical. In the Kilmarnock edition of his 
poems, the allusion to his Jean in his descrip- 
tion of the Muse's appearance ; — 

" Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen 

Till half a leg was scrimply seen, 
I And such a leg ! my bonny Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
' Sae straught, sae taper, tight, and clean, 
Nane else cam near it — " 

was replaced by the name of another charm- 
er, in consequence, it is presumed, of his 
quarrel vvfith her father. When the Edin- 
burgh edition appeared, his old affections 
had again asserted their sway, and her 
name was restored. In a letter to Mrs. Dun- 
iop, dated February, 1788, the poet, in allu- 
sion te> Miss Rachel Dunlop, one of her 
daughters, being engaged on a painting 
representing "The Vision," says :— " I am 
highly flattered by the nev/s you tell me of 
Coila. I may say to the fair painter who 
does me so much honor, as Dr. Beattie says 
to Ross, the poet, of his Muse Scota, from 
which, by the by, I took the idea of Coila ; 
('tis a poem of Seattle's in the Scottish 
dialect, which perhaps you have never 
seen) ;— 

* Ye shake your head, but o' my f egs, 
Ye've set auld Scota on her legs ; 
Lang had she lien wi, buffs and flegs, 

Bumbazed and dizzie ; 
Her fiddle wanted strings and pegs — 
Wae's me, poor hizzie P' 

DUAN FIRST.* 

The sun had closed the winter day, 
The curlers quat their roaring play,f 

* Duan^ a term of Ossian's for the different 
divisions of a digressive poem. See his 
" Cathloda," vol. li. of Macpherson's transla- 
tion.— B. 

t Curling is a wintry game peculiar to the 
southern counties of Scotland. When the ice 
is sufficiently strong on the lochs, a number of 
individuals, each provided with a large stone 
of the shape of an oblate spheroid, smoothed 
at the bottom, range themselves on two sides, 
and being furnished with handles, play 
against each other. The game resembles 
bowls, but is much more animated, and keenly 
enjoyed. It is well characterized by the poet 
as a roaring play. 



And hungered maukin ta'en her way / 
To kail-yards green, 

While faithless snaws ilk step betray 
Whare she has been. 

The thrasher's weary tiingin'-tree^ 
The lee-lang day had tired me; 
And when the day had closed his ee, 

Far i' the west, 
Ben i' the speuce,:]: right pensivelio, 

1 gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-clieek,' 
I sat and eyed the spewing reek,^ 
That fill'd wi' hoast-provoking su^eek. 

The auld clay biggin'; 
And heard the restless rations^ squeak 

About the riggin'. 

All in this mottie,^ misty clime, 
I backward mused on wasted time, 
How I had spent my j^outhfu' prime, 

And done naething, 
But stringin' blethers'' up in rhyme. 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
1 might by this liae led a market, 
Or strutted in a bank, and clerkit 

My cash account: 
While here, half -mad, half fed, half- 
sarkit, 

Is a', til' amotint. 

I started, muttering, Blockhead ! coof!* 
And heaved on high my wauliit loof,* 
To swear by a' yon starry roof. 

Or some rash aith, 
That I henceforth would be rhyme- 
proof 

Till my last breath — 

When, click ! the string the sneck'" 

did draw 
And jee ! the door gaed to the wa'; 
And by my ingle-lowe I saw. 

Now bleezin bright, 
A tight, outlandish hizzie, braw. 

Come full in sight. ^ 

Ye needna doubt, I held my whisht; 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was 

crtisht. 

' The flad. ^ Fireside. ^ Smoke. * Fmoke. 
5 Rats, f" Hazy. ' Nonsense. " Fool. * Hard- 
ened palm. '" Latch. 

X The parlour of the farm-house of Moss, 
giel — the only apartment besides the kitchen. 



POEMS. 



61 



Iglower'd as eerie's I'd been duslit" 
In some wild glen; 

When sweet, like modest Worth, she 
blusht. 

And stepped ben.^^ 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boughs 
Were twisted gracefu' round her 

brows — 
I took her for some Scottish Muse, 

By that same token: 
And come to stop those reckless vows, 

Would soon be broken. 

A ' hare-brain'd sentimental trace' 
Was strongly marked in her face; 
A wildly- witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her; 
Her eye e'en turn'd on empty space, 

Beani'd keen with honour. 

Down flow'd her robe, a tartan sheen. 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen; 
And such a leg ! my bonny Jean 

Could only peer it; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight^^, and 
clean, 

Nane else cam near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue. 
My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades, bold- mingling 
threw 

A lustre grand ; 
And seem'd, to my astonish'd view, 

A well-known land. 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost ; 
There, mountains to the sides were 

tost. 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the 
coast. 

With surging foam ; 
TMiere, distant shone Art's lofty boast. 
The lordly dome. 

Here, Doon pour'd down his far-fetched 

floods 
There, well fed Irwine stately thuds i'-* 
Auld hermit Ayr staw ^= through his 
woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds. 
With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

1' Frig:hiened. ''-^ Into the room. '^ Hand- 
some, well-formed, i^ Sounds. '* Stole. 



An ancient borough § rear'd her head ; 
Still, as in Scottish story read. 

She boasts a race 
To every nobler virtue bred. 

And polish'd grace. 
By stately tower or palace fair. 
Or ruins pendent in the air. 
Bold stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern , 
Some seem'd to muse, some seem d. to 
dare. 

With features stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel. 
To see a race || heroic wheel, 
And brandish round the deep - dyed( 
steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
Wliile back-recoiling seem'd to reel 

Their suthron foes. 

His country's saviour,^ mark him 

well ! 
Bold Richardton's** heroic swell ; 
The chief on Sarkf f who glorious fell, 

In high command ; 
And he whom ruthless fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a sceptred Pictish 

shade|:j: 
Stalk'd round his ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial race, portray'd 

In colors strong ; 
Bold, soldier-featured, undismayed 

They strode along. 
Through many a wild romantic grove p§ 



§ The town of Ayr. 

il The Wallaces— B. 

«5 Sir William Wallace.— B. 

** Adam Wallace 6f Richardton, cousin to 
the immortal preserver of Scottish independ- 
ence.— B. 

+t Wallace, Laird of Craigie, who was sec- 
ond in command, under Douglas, Earl of 
Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of 
Sark, fought in 1448. That glorious victory 
was principally owing to the judicious con- 
duct and intrepid valour of the gallant Laird 
of Craigie, who died of hisv/ounds after the 
action. — B. 

tt Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the 
district of Kyle is said to take its name, lies 
buried, as tradition says, near the family seat 
of the Montgoment's of Coilsfield, where his 
burial-place is still shown. — B. 

§§ Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord 
Justice-Clerk. — B. (Sir Thomas Miller of 
Glenlee, afterwaxds President of the Court of 
Session.) 



62 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Near many a hermit-fancied cove, 
(Fit haunts for friendship or for love,) 

In musing mood. 
An aged judge, I saw him rove. 

Dispensing good. 

With deep-struck reverential awe 
The learned sire and son I saw, || || 
To nature's God and nature's law 

They gave their lore, 
This, all its source and end to draw ; 

That, to adore. 

Brydone's brave ward ^"^ I well could 

spy, 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye : 
Who call'd on Fame, low standing by, 

To hand him on. 
Where many a patriot name on high 
And hero shone. 

DUAN SECOND. 
With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
I vieAv'd the heavenly seeming fair ; 
A whispering throb did witness bear 

Of kindred sweet. 
When with an elder sister's air 

She did me greet : — 
" All hail ! my own inspired bard ! 
In me thy native Muse regard ; 
Nor longer mourn thy fate is hard, 

Thus poorly low ! 
I come to give thee such reward 

As we bestow, 

" Know, the great genius of this land 
Has many a light, aerial band. 
Who, all beneath his high command. 

Harmoniously, 
As arts or arms they understand, 

Their labours ply. 

" They Scotia's race among them 

share ; 
Some fire the soldier on to dare : 
Some rouse the patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart : 
Some teach the bard a darling care. 

The tunefu' art. 
"'Mong swelling floods of reeking 
gore. 

II I The Rev. Dr. Matthew Stewart, the cel- 
ebrated mathematician, and his son, Mr. 
Dugald Stewart, the elegant expositor of the 
Scottish school of metaphysics, are here meant, 
theit villa of Catrine being situated on the 
Avr. 

\1 Colonel FuUarton.-B. 



They ardent, kindling spirits, pour ; 
Or, 'mid the venal senate's roar. 

They, sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest patriot-lore, 

And grace the hand. 

" And when the bard, or hoary sage. 
Charm or instruct the future age. 
They bind the wild, poetic rage. 

In energy, 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on the eye. 

"Hence Fullarton, the brave and 

yoimg ; 
Hence Dempster's zeal -inspired tongue; 
Hence sweet harmonious Beattie sung 

His Minstrel lay ; 
Or tore, with noble ardor stung. 

The sceptic's bays. 

' ' To lower orders are assign'd 
The humbler ranks of human Icind, 
The rustic bard, the laboring hind, 

The artisan ; 
All choose, as various they're inclined. 

The various man. 

" When yellow waves the heavy grain. 
The threatening storm some, strongly, 

rein ; 
Some teach to meliorate the plain. 

With tillage skill; 
And some instruct the shepherd-train, 
Blithe o'er the hill. 

" Some hint the lover's harmless wile; 
Some grace the maiden's artless smile; 
Some soothe the labourer's weary toil. 

For humble gains, 
And make his cottage -scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

" Some bounded to a district -space. 
Explore at large man's infant race. 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic bard: 
And careful note each opening grace, 

A guide and guard. 

" Of these am I — Coila my name, 
And this district as mine I claim, 
Where once the Campbells,*** chiefs 
of fame. 

Held ruling power. 



*** The Loudoun branch of the Campbells 
is here meant Mossgiel, and much of th? 
neighbouring ground was then the property 
of tiie Earl of Loudon. 



POEMS. 



63 



I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame, 
Thy natal hour. 

" With future hope, I oft would gaze, 

Fond, on tliy little early ways, 

Thy rudely-caroll'd, chiming phrase, 

In uncouth rhymes. 
Fired at the simple, artless lays. 

Of other times. 

" I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar; 
Or when the north his fleecy store 

Drove through the sky, 
I saw grim natures visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye. 

"Or when the deep green-mantled 

earth 
Warm cherish'd every floweret's birth, 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In every grove, 
I saw thee eye the general mirth 
* With boundless love. 

'•■ When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
Call'd forth the reaper's rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their evening joys. 

And lonely stalk. 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walli. 

' When youthful love, warm-blushing, 

strong 
Keen-shivering shot thy nerves along, 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored Name, 
f taught thee how to pour in song. 

To soothe thy flame. 

"I saw thy pulse's maddening play. 
Wild, send thee Pleasure's devious 

way. 
Misled my Fancy's meteor-ray. 

By passion driven; 
But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from Heaven. 

" I taught thy manners painting strains. 
The loves, the ways of simple swains. 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends; 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

Become thy friends. 

"Thou canst not learn, nor can I show, 
To paint with Thomson's landscape 
glow; 



Or wake the bosom-melting throe, 
With yhenstone's art. 

Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 
Warm on the heart. 

"Yet all beneath the unrivall'd rose. 
The lowly daisy sweetly blows. 
Though large forest's monarch throws 

His army shade. 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows. 

Adown the glade. 

" Then never murmur nor repine; 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 
And, trust me, not Potosi's mine, 

Nor kings' regard, 
Can give a bliss o'ermatching thine — ■ 

A rustic bard. 

" To give my counsels all in one. 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan; 
Preserve the dignity of man. 

With soul erect; 
And trust the universal plan 

Will all protect. 

"And wear thou this," she solemn said, 
iVnd bound the holly round mj head; 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red. 

Did rustling play; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 



A WINTER NIGHT, 

" Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you 
are. 

That bide the pelting of the pitiless 
storm ! 

How shall your houseless heads, and un- 
fed sides, 

Your loop'd and windowM raggedness, 
defend you, 

From seasons such as these ?" 

— Shakespeare. 

When biting Boreas, fell' and doure,* 

Sharp shivers through the leafless 

bower; [glower^ 

"V'V'lien Phoebus gies a short-lived 

Far south the lift,* 
Dim -darkening through the flaky 
shower. 

Or whirling drift: 

Api night the storm the steeples rocked, 
Poor labour sweet in sleep was locked. 



1 Keen. ^ Stern. 3 Stare. « Sky. 



64 



BURNS' WORKS. 



While burns, wi' snawy wreatlis up- 
choked, 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
S)r througli tlie mining outlet bocked,^ 

Down headlong hurl. 

Listening the doors and winnocks^ 

rattle, 
I thought me on the ourie' cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle^ 

O' winter war. 
And through the drift, deep-lairing 
sprattle,^ 

Beneath a scaur.'" 

Ilkhapping^' bird, wee, helpless thing. 
That, in the merry months o' spring, 
Delighted me to hear thee sing. 

What comes o' thee ? 
Whare wilt thou cower thy chittering 
wing, 

And close thy ee I 

Even you, on murdering errands toil'd. 
Lone from your savage homes exiled, 
The blood-stain'd roost, and sheep-cot 
spoil'd, 

My heart forgets, 
W hile ]Ditiless the tempest wild 

Sore on yoa beats. 

Now Phosbe, in her midnight reign. 
Dark muffled, view'd the dreary plain ; 
Still croAvding thoughts, a pensive 
train. 

Rose in my soul. 
When on my ear this plaintive strain, 

Slow, solemn, stole: — 

"Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier 

gust ! 
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost ! 
Descend, ye chilly, smothering snows ! 
Not all your rage, as now united, 
shows 
More hard unkindness, unrelenting. 
Vengeful malice unrepenting. 
Than heaven-illumined man on brother 
man bestows ! 

"" See stern Oppression's iron grip. 

Or mad Ambition's gory hand. 
Sending, like blood-hounds from the 

slip. 
Woe, Want, and Murder o'er a land! 



6 Belched. * Windo^ys. '' Shivering. 

■ Dashing storm. " Struggle. " Clitf. 

*^ Hopping, 



Even in the peaceful rural vale, 

Truth, weeping, tells the mournful 

tale, [lier side. 

How pamper'd Luxury, Flattery by 

The parasite empoisoning her ear. 

With all the servile wretches in the 

rear, [wide; 

Looks o'er proud Property, extended 

And eyes the simple rustic hind. 
Whose toil upholds the glittering 
show, 
A creature of another kind. 
Some coarser substance unrefined. 
Placed for her lordly use thus far, thus 
vile, below. 

" Where, where is Love's fond, tender 

throe. 
With lordly Honour's lofty brow. 

The powers you proudly own ? 
Is there, beneath Love's noble name. 
Can harbour dark the selfish aim. 

To bless himself alone ! 
Mark maiden innocence a prey 

To love-pretending snares, 
This boasted Honour turns away, 
Shunning soft Pity's rising sway, 

Regardless of the tears and unavail- 
ing prayers ! [squalid nest. 
Perhaps this hour, in misery's 
She strains your infant to her joyless 

breast, [rocking blast ! 

And with a mother's fears shrinks at the 

" ye who, sunk in beds of down, 
Feel not a want but what yourselves 
create, [fate 

Think for a moment on his wretched 
Whom friends and fortune quite dis. 
own. [call, 

111 satisfied keen nature's clamourous 
Stretch'd on his straw he lays him- 
self to sleep, [chiaky wall, 
While through the ragged roof and 
Chill o'er his slumbers piles the 
drif ty heap ! 
Think on the dungeon's grim confine. 
Where Guilt and poor Misfortune pine! 

Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 
But shall thy legal rage pursue 
The wretch, already crushed low 
By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow ? 
Affliction's sons are brothers in distress, 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite tho 

bliss r; 



POEMS. 



65 



I heard na mair, for clianticleer 
Shook off the pouthery snaw, 

And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 
A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impress'd ray 
mind — 

Through all His works abroad, 
The heart benevolent and kind 

The most resembles God. 



SCOTCH DRINK, 

This poem, -written after the manner of Fer- 
gusson's " Caller Water," is not to be taken 
as evidence of the poet's feelings and prac- 
tices. It was suggested, along with the fol- 
lowing poem, by the withdrawal of an Act 
of Parliament empowering Duncan Forbes 
of CuUoden to distil whisky on his barony 
of Ferintosh, free of duty, in return for 
services rendered to the Government. This 
privilege was a source of great revenue to 
the family : and as Ferintosh whisky was 
cheaper than that produced elsewhere, it 
became very popular, and the name Ferin- 
tosh thus became something like a s^jj-no- 
nyme for v/hisky over the country. Com- 
pensation for tb.e loss of privilege, to the 
tune of £21,580, was awarded to the Forbes 
family by a jury. Attention was further 
drawn to "the national beverage " at this 
time by the vexatious and oppressive way 
in which the E.xcise laws v/erc enforced at 
the Scotch distilleries. Many distillers aban- 
doned the business ; and as barley was 
beginnmg to fall in price in consequence, 
the county gentlemen supported the distil- 
lers, and an act was passed relieving the 
trade from the obno.xious supervision. 
These circumstances gave the poet his cue ; 
and the subject v/as one calculated to evoke 
his wildest humour. Writing to Robert 
Muir, Kilmarnock, he says, " 1 here enclose 

you my ' Scotch Drink,' and may the 

follow with a blessing for j'our edification. 
I hope some time before we hear the gowk, 
[cuckoo] to have the pleasure of seeing you 
at Kilmarnock, when I intend we shall have 
a. gill between us in a mutchkin stoup, 
v.-hich will be a great comfort and _ consola- 
tion to your humble servant, R. 13." 

" Gie him strong drink, until he wink 
That's sinking in despair ; 
And liquor guid to fire his bluid. 
That s prest wi' grief and care ; 

There let him bouse, and deep carouse, 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er. 
Till he forgets his loves or debts. 

And minds his griefs no more." 
— Solomon's Proverbs x,xxi. 6, 7. 

Let other poets raise a fracas' 
'Bout vines, and wines, and drucken 
Bacchus, 

> A row. 



And crabbit names and stories wrack"^ 
us. 

And grate our lug,^ [us, 
I sing the juice Scotch beare can mak 

In glass or jug. 

thou, my Mu^e ! guid auld Scotch 
drink, [thou jink,' 

Whether through wimplin''' worms 
Or, richly brown, ream o'er the bi'-nli, 

In glorious faem, 
Inspire me, till I lisp and wink, 

To sing thy name ! 

Let husky wheat the haughs adorn, 
And aits set up their awnie horn,^ 
And peas and beans, at e'en or morn. 
Perfume the plain, 

1 eze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 

Thou king o' grain ! 

On the aft Scotland cho^v'S her cood, 
In souple scones,' the wale o' food 1 
Or tumblin' in the boilin' flood 

Wi' kail and beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's 
blood. 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, and keeps us 

livin"; 
Though life's a gift no worth receivin' 
When heavy dragg'd wi' piue*^ and 
grievin' ; 

But oil'd by thee. 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, 
scrievin''' 

Wi' rattlin' glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear; 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care: 
Thou strings the nerves o' Labour sair, 

At '3 weary toil; 
Thou even brightens dark Despair, 

Wi' gloomy smile. 

Aft clad in miassy siller weed,'" 
Wi' gentles thou erects thy head; 
Yet humbly kind in time o' need. 

The poor man's wine,* 
His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 

Thou kitchens" fine. 



2 Bother. 'Ear. « Crooked. * Steal. 
6 Beard. ' Cakes 8 Pam. ^ Gliding glee- 
somely. '" Silver jugs. '^ Relishest. 

* Ale is meant, which is frequently mixed 
with porridge instead of milk. 



66 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Tliou art the life o' public haunts; 
But thee, what were our fairs and 

rants ? 
Even goodly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspired, 
W^hen gaping they besiege the tents.f 

Are doubly fired. 

That merry night we get the corn in, 
Oh, sweetly then thou reams the horn 

in! 
Or reekin' a new year morning 

In cog or bicker,'^ 
And just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in, 

And gusty sucker l^'^ 

When Vulcan gies his bellows breath, 
And plowmen gather wi' their graitli, '* 
Oh, rare ! to see thee fizz and freath 

I" the lugget caup I'^ 
Then Burnewin"^ comes on like death 

At everj chap. 

Nae mercy, then, for airn or steel; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel, 
Brings hard owrehip, wi' sturdy wheel. 

The strong forehammer, 
Till block and studie ring and reel, 

Wi' dmsome clamour. 

When skirlin' weanies''' see the light, 
Thou maks the gossips clatter bright, 
How fumblin' cuifs'* their dearies 
slight; 

Wae worth the name 1 
Nae howdie" gets a social night, 

Or plack'-** frae them. 

When neibors anger at a plea, 
And just as wud as wud-' can be, 
How easy can the barley-bree 

Cement the quarrel ! 
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee 

To taste the barrel. 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse has reason 
To wyte'- her countrymen wi' treason! 
But mony daily weet their weason^^ 
Wi' liquors nice, 



'2 Wooden vessels. i' Toothsome sugar. 
>■> Implements. ^^ Cup with ears. i" The 
blacksmith. '^ Screammg children. " Avvk- 
v/ard fools. " Midwife. 20 Coui, 21 M^d. 
82 Charge. 28 Throat. 

tThe tents for refreshment at out~of door 
communions. (See " Holy Fair," 



And hardly, in a winter's season, 
E'er spier^* her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash. 
Fell source o' mony a pain and brash !'^' 
'Twins mony a poor, doylt, druckeis 
hash"^ 

O' half his days; 
And sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her worst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotland well! 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell. 
Poor plackless devils like mysel, 

It sets you ill, 
Wi' bitter, dearthfu' wines to mell,'^'' 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round Ins blether wrench. 
And gouts torment him inch by inch, 
Wha twists hi.s gruntle wi' a glunch"-'^ 

O' your disdain, 
Out-owre a glar.s o' whisky punch 

Wi' honest men. 

whisky ! soul o' plays and pranks I 
Accept a B.ardie's gratefu' thanks ! 
When wanting thee, what tuneless 
cranks 

Are my poor verses ! 
Thou comes — they rattle i' their rojiks 

At ither's a — es. 

Tbee, Ferintosh ! oh, sadly lost ! 
Scotland lament frae coast to coast ! 
Now colic grips, and barkin' hoast,^^ 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes's charter'd boast. 

Is ta'en awa' ! 

Thae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the whisky-stells their prize! 
Hand up thy han', deil ! ance, twice, 
thrice I 

There, seize the blinkers!^" 
And bake them up in brunstane pies 
For/jpoor damn'd drinkers. 

Fortune I if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, and whisky gill, 
And rowth^' o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak a' the rest. 
And deal't about as thy blind skill 

Directs the best. 



24 Ask. 26 Sickness. 20 Rough fellow. 
2' Meddle. ^8 p^ce with a grin. =" Cough. 
3" A contemptuous term, '^' Abundance. 



POEMS. 



67 



REMORSE. 

A FRAGMENT, 

The following lines occur in an early Com- 
monplace-book of the poet's, and probably 
relate to tlie consequences oi his first serious 
error : — 

Of all the numerous ills that hurt our 
peace, [with anguish, 

That press the soul, or wring the mind 
Beyond comparison, the worst are those 
That to our folly or our guilt we owe. 
In every other circumstance, the mind 
Has this to say — "It was no deed of 

mine;" 
But when, to all the evil of misfortune, 
This sting is added — ' ' Blame thy fool- 
ish self," [morse — 
Or, worser far, the pangs of keen re- 
The torturuig, gnawing consciousness 
of guilt — [others, 
Of guilt perhaps where we've involved 
The young, the innocent, who fondly 
lo'ed us, [of ruin ! 
Nay, more — ^tliat very love their cause 
O burning hell! in all thy store of tor- 
ments. 
There's not a keener laslil [liis heart 
Lives there a man so firm, who, while 
Feels all the bitter horrors of his crime. 
Can reason down its agonising throbs; 
And, after proper purpose of amend- 
ment, [to peace? 
Can firmly force his jarring thoughts 
Oh, happy, happy, enviable man! 
Oh, glorious magnanimity of soul! 



ANSWER TO A POETICAL 
EPISTLE, 

SENT TO THE ATJTHOR BY A TAILOR. 

A tailor in the neighbourhood of Mauchline 
having taken it upon him to send the poet a 
rhymed homily on his loose conversation 
and irregular behaviour, received the fol- 
lowmg Imes in reply to his lecture : — 

"What ails ye now, ye lousie bitch, 
To thrash my back at sic a pitch? 
Losh, man! hae mercy wi' your natch,' 

Your bodkin's bauld, 
I didna suffer half sae much 

Frae Daddie Auld. 

i Crip. 



What though at times, when I grow 

crouse,'^ 
I gie the dames a random pouse, 
Is that enough for you to souse^ 

Your servant sae? [louse 

Gae mind your seam, ye prick-the- 
And jag-the-fiae. 

King David, o' poetic brief, 

Wrought 'mang the lasses sic mischief 

As fill'd his after life wi' grief 

And bluidy rants. 
And yet he's rank'd among the chief 

O' lang-syne saunts. 

And maybe, Tam, for a' my cants,* 
My wicked rhymes, aud drucken rants, 
I'll gie auld cloven Clootie's haunts 

An unco slip yet. 
And snugly sit among the saunts 

At Davie's hip yet. 

But fegs,^ the session says I maun 

Gae fa upon anither plan. 

Than garrin' lasses cowp the cran 

Clean heels owre gowdy. 
And sairly thole® their mither's ban 

Afore the howdy.'' 

This leads me on, to tell for sport, 
How I did wi' the session sort: 
Auld Clinkum at the inner port 

Cried three times — " Robin! 
Come hither lad, and answer for't, 

Ye' re blamed for jobbin'." 

Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on, ' 
And snooved*^ awa' before the session; 
I made an open, fair confession — 

I scorned to lie; [sion, 
And syne Mess John, beyond expres- 

Fell foul o' me. 

A furnicator-loon he call'd me. 

And said my faut frae bliss expell'd me; 

I own'dthe tale was true he tell'd me, 

" But what the matter?" 
Quo' I, " I fear unless ye geld me, 

I'll ne'er be better." 

"Geld you!" quo' he, "and what for 

no? 
If that your right hand, leg or toe, 
Should ever prove j'our spiritual foe. 
You should remember 



2 Happy. 
' Midv/ife. 



^f^cold. -I Tricks. 
" Sneaked 



6 Faith. 6 Bear. 



BURNS' WORKS. 



To cut it aff — and Avhat for no 

I'oar dearest member?" 

" Na, na," quo' I, " I'm no for tliat, 
Gelding's nae better tlian 'tis ca't; 
1' rather suiler for my faut, 

A hearty fiewit. 
As sair owre hip as ye can draw't, 

Tliough I should rue it. 

" Or gin ye like to end the bother. 
To please us a', I've just ae ither — 
When next wi' yon lass I forgather, 

Whate'er betide it, 
I'll frankly gie her't a' thegither, 

And let her guide it." 

But, sir, this pleased them warst ava, 
And therefore, Tarn, when that I saw, 
1 said, " Guid night," and cam awa', 

And left the session; 
I saw they were resolved a' 

On my oppression. 



THE AUTHOR'S EARNEST CRY 
AND PRAYER 

TO THE SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVES IN 
THE HOUSE OF COMMONS. 

For an account of the circumstances which 
gave rise to the following- hnes, see the in- 
troduction to the poem entitled " Scotch 
Drink," p. 65. 

" Dearest of distillations ! last and best ! 
How art thou lost !" 

— Parody on Milton. 

Ye Irish lords, ye knights and squires, 
W^ha represent our brughs and shires. 
And doucely' manage our affairs 

In parliament, 
To you a simple Bardie's prayers 

Are humbly sent. 

Alas! my roopit* Muse is hearse! ^ 
Your honours' heart wi' grief 'twad 

pierce, 
To see her sittin' on her a — e 

Low i' tlie dust. 
And scrachin'^f out prosaic veree 

And like to burst! 

' Soberly. ^ Hoarse. ' Screaming hoarsely 
—the cry of fowls when displeased. 

* A person with a sore throat and a dry 
tickhng cough, is said to be roopy. 

t Some editors give this ' screechin', 
(screaming), but, taken in connection with 
the hoarseness, every one who has heard the 
word used will endorse our reading. 



Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland and me's in great affiiction, 
E'er sin they laid that curst i:estrictioa 

On aqua vitss; [tion, 

And rouse them up to strong convic- 

And move their pity. 

Stand forth and tell yon Premier 

youth, :j: 
The honest, open, naked truth: 
Tell him o' mine and Scotland's drouth.* 

His servants humble; 
The muclde devil blaw ye south. 

If ye dissemble ! 

Does ony great man glunch^ and gloom? 
Speak out, and never fash your 

thoom I® 
Let posts and pensions sink or soom'' 

y<^ them wha grant 'em: 
If honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

In gath'rin' votes you werena slakj 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug,^ and fidge* your 
back. 

And hum and haw; 
But raise your arm, and tell your 
crack"* 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greetin'" owre her 
thrissle: [whissle; 

Her mutchkin stoup as toom's''' a 
And damn'd excisemen in a bussle, 

Sezzin' a stell, 
Triumphant crushin' 't like a mussle 

Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 
A blackguard smuggler right behint 

her. 
And cheek-for-chow a chufEe'^ vintner, 

Colleaguing join, 
Picking her pouch as bare as winter 
Of a' kind coin. 

Is there that bears the name o' Scot, 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot. 
To see his poor auld mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves. 
And plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 



* Thirst. ''Frown. ^ Trouble, your thumb. 
'Sv/im. sEar. "Shrug. '"Tale. "Weep, 
ing. '" Empty. '^ Fat-ficed. 
% William Pitt. 



POEMS. 



69 



Alas ! I'm but a nameless wiglit, 
Trod i' the mire and out o'- sight ! 
Bat could I like Montgomeries figlit,§ 

Or gab like Bos well, || 
There's some sark-necks I wad draw 
tight, 

And tie some hose well. 

God bless your honours, cant ye see't. 
The kind, auld, cantie carlin greet," 
And no get warmly to your feet, 

And gar them hear it, 
And tell them wi' a patriot heat, 

Ye winna bear it ? 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws. 
To round the period and pause. 
And wi' rhetoric clause on clause 

To make harangues; 
Then echo through St. Stephen's wa's 

Auld Scotland's wrangs. 

Dempster,^ a true-blue Scot I'se war- 
ran'; [ran;** 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Killier- 
And that glib-gabbet'^ Highland baron, 

The laird o' Graham ;f| 
And ana, a chap that's damn'd auld- 
farran,"* 

Dundas his name.:|::j: 

Erskine,§§ a spunkie^'' Norland baillie; 
Ti'ue Campbells, Frederick and Ilay;|||| 
And Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie; 

And mony itliers, 
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 

Might own for brithers. 



^* The cheerful old wife cry. (Scotland 
personified.) '^ Ready-tongued. ^^ Sagaci- 
ous. " Plucky. 

§ Colonel Hugh Montgomery, who had 
served in the American war, and was then 
representing Ayrshire. 

II James Boswell of Auchinleck, the biogra- 
pher of Dr. Samuel Johnson. 

•f George Dempster of Dunnichen, Forfar- 
ghire 

** Sir Adam Fergusson of Kilkerran, then 
member for Edinburgh, 
tt The Marquis of Graham. 

tt Henry Dundas, afterwards Viscount Mel- 
ville. 

§§ Thomas Erskine, afterwards Lord Ers- 
kme. 

111! Cord Frederick Campbell, brother to the 
Duke of Argyl.e,and Hay Campbell, then Lord 
Advocate. 



Thee, Sodger Hugh, my watchman 

stented,'1[«l[ 
If bardies e'er are represented; 
I ken if that your sword were wanted, 

Ye'd lend your hand: 
But when there's ought to say anent it, 

Ye're at a stand.*** 

Arouse, my boys: exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle; 
Or, faith ! I'll wad my new plough- 
pettle,'8 

Ye'll see't or lang. 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin' whittle,'® 
Anither sang. 

This while she's been in crarLkous^" 

mood, 
Her lost militia fired her bluid; 
(Deil na they never mair do good,) 

Play'd her that pliskie l^* 
And now she's like to rin red-wud'^^ 

About her Avhisky. 

And, Lord, if ance they pit her till't. 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt. 
And durk and pistol at her belt. 

She'll tak the streets. 
And rin her whittle to the hilt 

r th' first she meets ! 

For God's sake, sirs, then speak her 

fair. 
And straik'^^ her cannie wi' the hair. 
And to the muclvle House repair 

Wi' instant speed. 
And strive, wi' a' your wit and lear, 

To get remead. 

Yon ill-tongued tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers and mocks; 
But gie him't het, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowe the caddie F* ' 
And send him to his dicing-box 

And sportin' lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Bocon- 
nock'sfff 



"Plough-staff. '9 Knife. 20 m.ternpered, 
restless. 21 Trick. 22 Mad. 23 Stroke, 
s-i Fellow. 

T? Being member for Ayrshire, the poet 
speaks of him as his stented or vanguard 
watchman. 

***This stanza alludes to Hugh Montgom- 
ery's imperfect elocution. 

ttt William Pitt was the grandson of Robert 
Pitt of Boconnock, in Cornwall. 



TO 



BURNS' WORKS. 



I'll be his debt twa maslilura ban- 
nocks, :j:it 
And drink liis health in auld Nanse 
Tinnock's,§§§ 

l^ine times a week. 
If he some scheme, like tea and win- 
noclts,!!! 

Wad kindly seek. 

Conld he some commutation broach, 
I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch. 
He neediia fear their foul reproach 

Nor erudition. 
Yon mistie-maxtie, queer hotch-potch, 

The coalition. 



ttt Cakes made of oats, beans, and peas, 
with a mixture of wheat or barley flour. 

§§§ A worthy old hostess of the author's in 
Wauchline, where he sometimes studied pol- 
itics over a glass of guid old Scotch drink. — B. 
" Nanse Tinnock is long deceased, and no one 
has caught up her mantle. She is described as 
having been a true a/e-wi/e, in the proverbial 
sense of the word — close, discreet, civil, and 
no tale-teller. When any neighbouring wife 
came, asking if /ie>- John was here, ' Oh, no,' 
Kanse would reply, shaking money in her 
pocket as she spoke, ' he's no here,' implying 
to the querist that the husband was not m the 
house, while she meant to herself that he was 
not among her half-pence — thus keeping the 
word of promise to the ear, but breaking it to 
the hope. Her house was one of two stories, 
and had a front towards the street, by v.'hich 
Burns must have entered MauchUne from 
Mossgiel. The date over the door is 1744. It 
is remembered however, that Nanse never 
could understand how the poet should have 
talked of enjoying himself in her house ' nine 
times a week.' ' The lad^ she said, ' hardly 
ever drank three half-mutchkins under her 
roof in his life.' Nanse, probably, had never 
heard of the poetical license. In truth, Nanse's 
hostelrv was not the only one in Mauchline 
which Burns resorted to : a rather better-look- 
jnnf house, at the opening of the owgate, 
kcrt by a person named John Dove, and then, 
and still bearing the arms of Sir John White- 
ford of Ballochmyle, was also a haunt of the 
poet's having this high recommendation, that 
Its back windows surveyed those of the house 
in which his 'Jean' resided. The reader will 
iir^d in its proper place a droll epitaph on John 
Dove, in which the honest landlord's religion 
is made out to be a mere comparative appreci- 
ation of his various liquors." — Chambers. 

liil|| Pitt, the Chancellor of the E.xchequer, 
had gained some credit by a measure intro- 
duced in 1784 for preventing smuggling of tea 
by reducing the duty, the revenue being com- 
pensated by_ a tax on windows, 

%%^ Mixtie-ma.xtie is Scotch for a mixture 
of incongruous elements. Hotch-potch is a 
dish composed of all sorts of vegetables. 
This coalition, like many others since, was in 
■Uie poet's eyes an unnatural banding together 
of men of difierent opinions. 



Auld Scotland has a raucle^^ tongue; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung:'-''* 
And if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part. 
Though by the neck she should be 
strung, 

She'll no desert. 

And now, ye chosen Five-and-For- 
ty,**--* [ye; 

May still your mother's heart support 
Then though a minister grow dorty,-' 

And kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor and 
hearty. 

Before his face. 

God bless your honours a' your days 
Wi' sov.'ps-'^ o' kail and brats o' claise,^^ 
In spite o' a' the thievish kaes"'" 

That haunt St. Jamie's ! 
Your humble poet sings and prays 

W^hile Rab his name is. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Let half -starved slaves in v,-armer skie3 
See future wines, rich clust'ring, lisei 
Their lot auld Scotland ne'er envies. 

But blythe and frisky. 
She eyes her free-born, martial boys, 

Tak afE their whisky. 

What though their Phcebus kinder 

warms, [charms ! 

While fragrance blooms and beauty 

\'\ hen v.'retches range, in famish'd 

swarms. 

The scented groves, 
Or, hounded forth, dishonour aims 
In hungry droves. 

Their gun's a burtlien on their shou- 

tlier; 
They downa bide^^ the stink o' pouther ; 
Their bauidest thought's a hank'ring 
swithcr^''' 

To stan' or rin, [ther,'* 
Till skelp— a shot— they're aff a' throu'- 
To save their skin. 



25 Roup-h. 2(i Cudgel. 27 Sulky. "^^ Spoon- 
fuls. ^a'^Rags o' clothes. =» Jackdav/s, 3' They 
dare not stand. ^^ Uncertainty. =3 pell mell. 

**** The number of Scotch representa- 
tives. 



POEMS. 



71 



Bu t bring a Scotsman f rae his hill. 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
Bay, such is roj'al George's will, 

AJad there's the foe; 
He has nae thought but how to kill 

Tvva at a blow. 

N^ae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings 
tease him; [him; 

Death comes — wi' fearless eye he sees 
vVi' bluidy han' a welcome gies him; 

And when he fa's, [him; 
Kis latest draught o' breathin' lea'es 

In faint huzzas ! 

Sages their solemn een may steek,^ 
And raise a philosophic reek,^^ 
And physically causes seek. 

In clime and season; 
But tell me v/hisky's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason. 

Scotland, my auld, respected mither ! 
Though whiles ye moistify your 

leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on craps o' heather. 

Ye tine^^ your dam; 
Freedom and whisky gang thegither ! — 

Tak aE your dram! ' 



THE AULD FARMER'S NEW- YEAR 

MORNING SALUTATION TO HIS 

AULD MARE MAGGIE, 

ON GIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIP 

OF CORN TO HANSEL IN THE NEW 

YEAR. 

Most editors have alluded to the tenderness 
of Burns towards the lower animals ; this is 
a true poetic instinct, and with him was un- 
usually strong-. The Ettrick Shepherd says, 
in a note to this poem : — " Burns must have 
been an exceedingly good and kind-hearted 
being ; for whenever he has occasion to 
address or mention any subordinate being, 
however mean, even a mouse or a flower, 
then there is a gentle pathos in his language 
that awakens the finest feelings of the 
heart." 

A GUID New-Year I wish thee, Maggie! 
Hae, there's a rip' to thy auld baggie. 
Though thou's howe-backit now and 
knaggie,'' 



5* Eyes may shut. ^^ Smoke. ^^ Lose. 

1 A handful of corn in the stalk, * Bent- 
backed and ndged. 



I've seen the day 
Thou could hae gaen like ony staggie 
Out owre the lay.^ 

Thou now thou's dowie,* stiff and 

crazy, 
And thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, 
I've seen the dappl't, sleek and glazie,* 

A bonny gray : 
He should been tight that daur't to 
raize** thee, 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A tilly buirdly, steeve and swank,'' 
And set weel down a shapely shank. 

As e'er tread yird;^ 
And could hae flown out-owre a stank,' 

Like ony bird. 

It's now some nine-and-twenty year. 
Sin' thou was my guid father's meer: 
He gied me thee, o' tocher'^' clear. 

And fifty mark; [gear. 
Though it was sma', twas weel -won 

And thou was stark. '^ 

Wlien first I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye then was trottin' wi' your Minnie,'^ 
Though ye was trickle, slee, and f un- 
nie. 

Ye ne'er was donsie^^ 
But hamely, towie, quiet, and cannie,'* 

And unco sonsie. ■* 

That day ye pranced wi' muckle pride 
When ye bure hame my bonny bride: 
And sweet and gracef u' she did ride, 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle-Stewart* I could hae bragged'^ 
wide. 

For sic a pair. 

Though now ye dow but hoyte and 

hoble," 
And wintle like a saumont coble,'* 
That daf ye was jinker'^ noble. 
For heels and win'! 



' Grass-field. * Low-spirited. ' Shin- 
ing. * Excite, ' Stately, strong, active. 
>* Earth. ' Ditch. >" Dowry. i- Strong. 
'2 Mother. '^ Mischievous. >^ Good- 

natured. '^ Engaging. " Challenged. 

'^ Can but limp and totter. "* Twist like 
the ungainly boat used by salmon fishers. 
1** Runner. 

*The district between the Ayr and the 
Doon. 



73 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And ran them till they a' did wauble,^" 
Far, far, behia'j 

Wlien thou and I were young and 

skeigli,'^' 
And stable -meals at fairs were dreigh,^^ 
How thou would prance, and snore and 
skreigh 

And tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, and stood abeigh,^^ 
And ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't, and I was mel- 
low, 
We took the road aye like a swallow: 
At Brooses'^* thou had ne'er a fellow. 

For pith and speed; 
But every tail thou pay't them hollow, 

Whare'er thou gaed. 

The sma' droop-rumpl't,^^ hunter cat- 
tle, [tle;26 
Might aiblins waur't thee for a brat- 
But sax Scotch miles thou try't their 
mettle, 

And gar't them whaizle^'' 
Nae whupnor spur, but just a wattle^^ 
0' saugh or hazle. 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan',^* 
As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 
Aft thee and I, in aught hours' gaun, 

In guid March weather, 
Hae tum'd sax rood beside our ban'. 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't, and fech't, and 
fliskit,3» [kit,3i 

But tliy auld tail thou wad hae whis- 
And spread abreed thy well-fill'd bris- 
ket, =** 

Wi' pith and pow'r, 
'Till spritty knowes wad rair't and 
risket,^^ 

And slypet owre. 

When frosts lay lang, and snaws were 

deep, 
And threaten'd labour back to keep. 



^'' Stagger — exhausted. '^ Mettlesome. 

22 Scarce ^^ Aside. ^* Wedding races. 
^^ Sloping-backed. 2" Might perhaps have 
beaten thee for a short race. 2' Wheeze. 

2" A switch. "' The near horse of the hind- 
most pair in the plough, s" Never pulled by 
fits or starts, or fretted. ^^ Shaken. ^^ Breast. 
*' Till hard, dry hillocks would open v/ith a 
cracking sound, the earth falling gently over. 



I gied thy cog^ a wee bit heap 
Aboon the timmer; 

I kenn'd my Maggie wadna sleep 
For that, or simmer. 

In cart or car thou never reestit;^' [it; 
The steyest^^ brae thou wad hae faced 
Thou never lap, and sten't, and breast- 
it, 3' 

Then stood to blaw; 
But just thy step a wee thing hastit,^^ 

Thou snoov't awa. 

My pleugh is now thy bairn -time a';^' 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbye sax mae, I've seU't awa', 

That thou hast nurst : 
They drew me thretteen pund and 
twa, 

The vera warst. 

Mony a sair darg''" we twa hae wrought. 
And wi' the weary warl' fought ! 
And mony an anxious day I thought 

We wad be beat ! 
Yet here to crazy age we're brought 

Wi' something yet. 

And think na, my auld trusty servan'. 
That now perhaps thou's less deser- 

vin'. 
And thy auld days may end in starvinV 

For my last fou, 
A heapit stimpart,*' I'll reserve ane 
Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither ; 
We'll toyte'*^ about wi' ane anither ; 
Wi' tentie care I'll flit thy tether 

To some hain'd rig,''^ [er, 
Whare ye may nobly rax** your leath- 

Wi' sma' fatiffue. 



THE TWA DOGS : 

A TALE. 

Gilbert Burns says :— " The tale of ' The Twa 
Dogs ' was composed after the resolution of 
publishing was nearly taken. Robert had a 
dog, which he called Luath, that was a 
great favourite. The dog had been killed 
by the wanton cruelty of some person, the 



S"! Wooden measure, ss Stopped. ^^ Steep.. 
est. ^^ Nearer leaped, reared, or started for 
ward. 38 Quickened. ^^ My plough team 
are all thy children. ^^ Day's labour. ■*' A 
measure of corn the eighth part of a bushel. 
^2 Totter. ^' Saved ndge of grass- ** Stretcb4 



POEMS. 



7h 



night before my father's death. Robert said 
to me that he should like to confer such im- 
mortality as he could bestow on his old 
friend Luath, and that he had a great mind 
to introduce something into the booic under 
the title of ' Stanzas to the Memory of a 
Quadruped Friend ;' but this plan was given 
up for the poem as it now stands. CiEsar 
was merely the creature of the poet's imag- 
ination, created for the purpose of holding 
chat with his favourite Luath." The factor 
who stood for h s portrait here was the same 
of whom he writes to Dr. Moore in 17S7: — 
" My indignation yet boils at the scoundrel 
factor's insolent threatening letters, which 
used to set us all in tears." All who have 
been bred in country districts will have no 
difficulty in finding parallels to the factor of 
the poem. Often illiterate and unfeeling, 
, they think to gain the favour of the laird by 
an over-zealous pressure on poor but honest 
tenants, who, if gently treated, would 
struggle through their diiiiculties. 

'Twas in tliat place o' Scotland's isle, 
That bears tlie name o' auld King Coil, ' 
Upon a bouny day in June, 
When wearing through the afternoon, 
Twa dogs that v/erena thrang'^ at hame, 
. Forgather'd ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him Csesar 
Was keepit for his honour's pleasure; 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs,^ 
Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's dogs; 
But whalpit some place far abroad. 
Where sailors gang to fish for cod. 

Ilis locked, letter'd, braw brass collar 
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar; 
But thou he was o' high degree. 
The fient* a pride — nae pride had he; 
But wad hac spent an hour caressin'. 
Even wi' a tinkler- gypsy's messan:^ 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tawted^ tyke, though e'er sae 

duddie,' 
But he "v^ad stan't, as glad to see him. 
And stroan't^ on stanes and hillocks 

wi' him. 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhyming, ranting, roving billie, [him, 
Wha for his friend and comrade had 
And in his freaks had Luath ca'd him. 
After some dog in Highland sang,* 



1 The middle district of Ayrshire. ^ Busy, 
s Ears. * A petty oath — "the devil a bit o'." 

* Cut. * Matted and dirty. ' Ragged. 

* Pissed. 

* Cuchullin's dog in Ossian's " Fingal." 



Was made lang syne — Lord knaws how 
lang. 

He was a gash' and faithfu' tyke. 
As ever lap a sheugh'° or dike. 
His honest sonsie, baws'nt face,'' 
Aye gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was Avhite, his touzie'^ back 
Weel clad wi' coat 'o glossy black; 
His gaucie'^ tail, wi' upward curl, 
Hung o'er his hurdles^* wi' a swij-1. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o'ither,'* 
And unco pack and thick"' thegither; 
Wi' social nose whyles snuii'd and 
sno%vkit," [liowkit;'8 

Whyles mice and moudieworts they 
Whyles scour'd awa' in lang excursion, 
And v,''orried ither in diversion; 
Until wi' daffin''^ weary grown. 
Upon a knowe'" they sat them down. 
And there began a lang digression 
About the lords o' the creation. 

CiESAR. 

I've often wonder'd, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like yoii 

have, 
And when the gentry's life I saw, 
"What way poor bodies lived ava. 

Our laird gets in his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, and a' his stents;^' 
He rises when he likes hirnsel ; 
His fiunkies answer at the bell; 
He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse; 
life draws a bonny silken purse [steeks,-^ 
As 'ang's my tail, wliare, througli the 
The yellow-letter' d Geordie keeks. ^^ 

Frae mom to e'en it's nought but toil- 
ing, 

At baking, roasting, frying boiling; 

And though the gentry first are 
Stechin,^'* 

Yet e'en the ha' folk fill their pechan'^' 

Wi' sauce, ragouts, and siclike trash- 
trie, 



» Knowing. >» Ditch. " His honest 

comely, white-striped face. '^ Shaggy. 

" Bushy. '* Hips. ^^ Fond of each other. 
18 Very interested and friendly, i' Scented. 
1' Sometimes for mice and moles they dug. 
1^ Sporting. 20 Hillock. 21 His corn rents and 
assessments. ^- Stitches. ^3 Glances. ^'^ Stuff- 
ing. '^ Stomach, 



74 



BUEN5' WORKS. 



That's little short o' downright wastiie, 

Our whipper-m, we, biiistit wonuer,-'* 

Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner 

Better than ony tenant man 

His honour has in a' the Ian'; 

And what poor cot-folk pit their 

painch'^ in, 
I own it's past my comprehension. 

LUATH 

Trowth, Cagsar, whyles they're fasht'^^ 

eneiigh ; 
A cotter hov/kin' in a sheugh,^' 
Wi' dirty stanes biggin' a dilie, 
Baring a quarry, and siclike; 
Ilimsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 
A sm\trie o' wee duddie weans, ^^ 
And nought but his han' darg^^ to keep 
Them right and tight in thaclc and rape"- 

And when they meet wi' sair disasters, 
Lilie io.33 o' health or want o' masters, 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch ] anger, 
And they maun starve o' cauld and 

liuuger; 
But how it comes I never kenn'd yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented; 
.And buirdly chiels, and clever hiiszies,^^ 
Are bred in sic a way as this is. 

CyESAR. 

But then to how ye're ncgleckit, [it ! 
Iiowhuff'd, and cuit'd, and disrespeck- 
Lord, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, and sic cattle; 
They gang as saucy by poor folk 
As I v/ad by a stinkin' brock. ^'^ 
I've noticed, on our laird's court- day, 
And mouy a time my heart's been wae. 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash. 
How they maun thole a factor's snash:^^ 
He'll stamp and threaten, curse and 

swear; 
He'll apprehend tliem, poind their gear; 
While they maun stan', Avi' aspect 

humble. 
And hear it a', and fear and tremble ! 

I see how folk live that hae riches; 
But surely poor folk maun be wretches ! 



'"^ Y/onder, a contemptuous appellation. 
*' Paunch. "^ Troubled. ^^ Digging in a 
ditch. 39 A number of ragged children. 
2^ Day's work. ^^ Under a roof-tree. — 

literally, thatch and rope. ss Stalwart men 
and clever women, '^* Badger. ^° Bear a 
factor's abuse, 



LUATlt. 

They're no sae wretched 's ane wad 

think; 
Though constantly on poortith's^^ brink: 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the siglit. 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance and fortune are sae guided, 
They're aye in less or mair provided; 
And though fatig-ued wi' close employ 

ment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment. 

The dearest comfort o' their lives, 
Their gushie^' weans and faithfu' 
v.-ives ; [pride, 

The prattling things are just tlieir 
That sweetens a' their fire-side; [py-^ 
And whyles twalpennie worth o' nap- 
Can mak the bodies unco happy ; 
They lay aside their private cares. 
To mind the Kirk and state affairs ; 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts ; 
Or tell what new taxation's comin'. 
And ferlie^^ at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak-f.aced Hallowmas returns. 
They get the jovial ranting kirns,*" 
When rural life o' every station 
Unite in common recreation ; [Mirth 
Love blinks. Wit slaps, and social 
Forgets there's Care upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins 
They bar the door on frosty win's ; 
The nappy reeks wi' m.antling ream, 
And sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin pipe and sneeshin mill'' 
Are handed round wi' right guid Avill ; 
The cautie'*'- auld foUcs crackm'crouse,-*^ 
The yoiing anes rantin' through the 

house, — 
My heart has been sae fain to see them, 
That I for joy hae barkit v,'i' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hue said, 
Sic game is now ov.-re aften play'd. 
There's mony a creditable stock 
0' decent, honest, fawsont'-* folk. 
Are riven out baith root and branch. 
Some rascal's pridefu' greed to quench, 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the faster 

3° Poverty. =' Thriving. ^s A]e or 

whisky. ^9 Wonder. ^'j'Kar%'est-homes. 
''1 The smoking pipe and snuff-box. ^-Cheer- 
ful. ■»3 Talking briskly. •"■» Seemly. 



POEI^IS. 



75 



In favour wi' some geutle master, 
Wiia aiblins"*^ thiang a parliameutin' 
For iJritam's guid his saul iudentin' — 

Faith, lad, ye little ken about it ; [it. 
For Britain's guid ! guid faith, I doubt 
Say rather, ga an as Premiers lead him; 
And saying Ay or No's they bid him ; 
At operas and piays parading. 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading; 
Or maybe, in a frolic daft. 
To Hague or Calais taks a waft,'*^ 
To make s. tour, a.iid tak a whirl, 
To learn bo-i ton, and see the worl'. 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
Hs rives his father's auld entails f 
Or by Madrid he takes the route, [te;^* 
To thrum guitars, and fscht %vi' now- 
Or do\vn Italian vista startles, [ties, 
V/liore-iiunting among groves o' myr- 
Then bouses drumly German water, . 
To mak himsel look fair and fatter, 
And clear the consequential sorrows. 
Love-gifts of Carnival signoras. 
For Britain's guid!— for her destruction ! 
Wi' dissipation, feud, and faction ! 

LUATn. 

Hech man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ! 
Are we sac foughtcn and harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ! 

Oh, would they stay aback fra courts. 
And please themselves wi' country 

sports. 
It wad for every ana be better. 
The Laird, The Tenant, and the Cot- 
ter ! 
For thae frank, rantin' ramblin' billies, 
Fieut haet o' tiiem's ill-hearted fellows; 
Except for breakin' o' their timmer, 
Or spealdn' lightly o' their limmer. 
Or shootin' o' a hare or moorcock. 
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor foUc. 

But will ye tell me, Master Cajsar, 
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure? 
Nae cauld nor hunger e'er can steer 

them, 
The very thought o't needna fear them. 

<s Perhaps. ■'"Atrip. ■" Breaks tlic entail 
on las estate, «« See ball-iights. 



C/ESAll. 

Lord, man, were ye but whyles whara 

I am. 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 
It's true they needna starve nor .sweat, 
Through wmter's cauld or simmer's 

heat; [banes. 

They've nae sair wark to craze tiieiL- 
And fill auld age wi' grips andgranes:''" 
But human bodies are sic fools. 
For a' their colleges and schools. 
That when nae real iils perplex themi. 
They mak eaov/ themsels to vex them; 
And aye the less they hae to sturt"'* 

them, 
In like proportion less ■will hurt thera. 

A country follow at the pleugh. 
His acres till'd, he's right eneugh; 
A couutrj' girl at her wheel, : 

Her dizzens done, she's unco woel: 
But Gentlemen, and Ladies warst, 
Wi' evendown want o' wark are cui-st. 
They loiter, lounging, lanli, ani lasy; 
Though deil haet=^ ails them, yet 

uneasy; 
Their days insipid, dull, and tasteless; 
Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless; 
And e'en their sports, their balls and 

races, 
Their galloping through public places. 
There's sic parade, sic pomp and art. 
The joy can scarcely reach the heart. 

The men cast out in party matches. 
Then sowther^^ a' in deep debauches; 
Ae night they're mad wi' drink and 

whoring, 
Neist day their life is past enduring. 

The Ladies arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great and gracious a' as sisters; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. 
They're a' run deils and jads^-* tha- 
githsr. [lie, 

Whyles, owre tlie vree bit cup and pla- 
They sip the scandal potion pretty : 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit leuks. 
Pore owre the devil's pictured beuks; 
Stake on a chance a farmer's stackyard, * 
And cheat like ony unhanged black- 
guard, [niau; 
There's some exception, man and wo- 
But this is Gentry's life in common. 



*' Pains and groans. ^° Trouble, 
a thing-. '^ Solder. ^^ A giddy girl. 



i)i;vU 



78 



T?TTr,NS' wot^kf;. 



By tliis, the sun was out o' aiglit, 
And darker gloaming brouglit tlie 
niglit; [drone; 

Tlie bum clock"* humm'd wi' lazy 
The kye stood rowtin^^ i' the loaji: 
When up tliey gat and shook their lugs. 
Rejoiced they werena men, but dogs; 
And each took aff his several way. 
Resolved to meet some ither day. 



/. 



TO A LOUSE, 



ON SEEING ONE ON A LADY S BONNET 
AT CHURCH. 

• Burns's fastidious patrons and patronesses* 
sometimes ventured to lecture liim on the 
homeliness and vulgarity of some of his 
themes. " The Address to a Louse " was a 
notable instance. The poet defended it on 
account of the moral conveyed, and he was 
right, we think. He was ever impatient of 
criticism and suggestions ; and, judging 
from the kind of criticisms and suggestions 
frequently offered to him, we may be glad 
that he so freauently followed his own judg- 
ment. 

Ha ! whare ye gaiin, ye crowiin' 

ferlie P 
Your impuaence protects you sairly: 
I caima say but ye strunt- rarely, 

Owre gauze and lace; 
Though, faith, I fear ye dine but 
sparely 

On sic a place 

Ye ugly, creepin', blastit wonner, [ner. 
Detested, shunn'd, by saunt and sin- 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Sae fine a lady ? 
Gae somewhere else, and seek your 
dinner 

On some poor body 

Swith, in some beggar's haiiet squattle^ 
There ye may creep, and sprawl, and 

sprattle* 
Wi' ither kindred, jumping cattle, 
In shoals and nations; 
MHiare horn nor bane ne'er daur un- 
settle* 

Your thick plantations. 

** Beetle. ^^ Lowing. 

' Wonder. 2 Strut. ^ Swift crawl in some 
beggar's hf.ir. * Scramble. ^ Where the hair 
is riaver combed, 



Now hand you there, ye're out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'rils,^ snug and tight; 
Na, faith ye yet ! ye'll no be right 

Till ye've got on it. 
The very tapmost, towering height 

0' Miss's bonnet. 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose 

out, 
As plump and gray as onygrozet:'' 
Oh for some rank, mercurial rozet,^ 
Or fell, red .«meddum,' 
I'd gie you sic a hearty doze o't, 

Wad dress your droddum P" 

wadna been surprised to spy 
You on an auld wife's flannen toy;" 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat;'-^ 
But Miss's fine Lunardi !* fie ! 

How daur ye do't ? 

O Jenny, dinna toss your head. 
And set your beauties a' abread ! 
Ye ''Htle ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin' ! 
The winks and finger-ends, I dread, 

Are notice takin' ! 

Oh wad some power the giftie g-ie us 

To see oursels as others see us ! 

It wad frae mony a blunder free us. 

And foolish notion: fus 
What airs in dress and gait wad i^a'e 

And even devotion 1 



THE ORDINATION. 

" For sense they little owe to frugal 
Heaven — 
To please the mob, they hide the little 
given." 

Kilmarnock wabsters,^ fidgeand claw 
And pour your creeshie nations :-' 

And ye wha leather rax" and draw 
Of a' denominations,! 



"The ribbon ends. 'Gooseberry. ^ Rosin, 
' Powder. '" Breach. '^ Flannel cap. 

12 Flannel Waistcoat. 

1 Weavers. ^ Greasy crowds. ^ Stretch. 

* A kind of bonnet, at one time fashionable, 
called after an Italian aeronaut. 

t Kilmarnock was then a town of between 
three and four thousand inhabitants, most ol 
whom were engaged in the manufacture o( 
carpets and other coarse woollen goods, or in 
the preparation of leather. 



POEMS. 



77 



Switli to the Laigli Kirk, ane and a', 
And there tak up your stations; 

Tlien aff to Begbie's f in a raw. 
And pour divine libations 
For joy tliis day. 

Curst Common Sense, that imp o' liell, 

Cam in with Maggie Lauder; :j: 
But Oliphant aft made her yell, 

And Russell sair misca'd her;§ 
This day Mackinlay taks the flail. 

And he's the boy will blaud^ her ! 
He'll clap a shangan' on her tail. 

And set the bairns to daud^ her 
Wi' dirt this day. 

Mak haste and turn king David owre, 

And lilt wi' holy clangor; 
O' doable verse come gie us four, 

And skirl up the Bangor: 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure,' 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her. 
For Heresy is in her power. 

And gloriously she'll whang^ her 
Wi' pith this day. 

Come, let a proper text be rea,d, 

And touch it afE vA' vigour, 
How graceless Ham|| leugli at his dad, 

V\1iich made Canaan a nigger; 
Or Phinehasf drove the murdering 
blade, 

Wi' whore-abhorring rigour; 
Or Zipporah,** the scaaldin' jade. 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' the inn that day. 

There, try his mettle on the creed, 

And bind him down wi' caution, 
That stipend is a carnal Aveed 

He taks but for the fashion; 
And gie him owre the flock to feed, 

And punish each transgression; 
Especial, rams that cross the breed, 

Gie them sufficient threshin', 

Spare them nae day. 



* Slap. * A cleft stick. « Bespatter. '' A dust. 

* Lash. 

t A tavern near the church kept by a per- 
son of this name. 

t Alluding to a scoffing ballad which was 
made on the admission of the late rever- 
end and worthy Mr. Lindsay to the Laigh 
Kirk.-B. 

§ Oliphant and Russellwere ministers of the 
Auld-Licht party. 

H Genesis ix. 22. 

i" Numbers xxv. 8, 

** Exodus iv. 25, 



Now, auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail. 

And toss thy horns fu' canty ;^ [dale, 
Nae mair thou'lt rowte^" out-owre the 

Because thy pasture's scanty; 
For lapf u's large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty. 
And runts^' o' grace the pick and wale, 

No gien by way o' dainty, 
But ilka day. 

Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll 
weep. 

To think upon our Zion; 
And hing our fiddles up to sleep, 

LUte baby-clouts a-dryin'; [cheep. 
Come, screw the pegs, wi' tunefu' 

And o'er the thairms'- be tryin'; 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep,'* 

And a' like lamb-tails flyin' 
Fu' fast this day I 

Lang, Patronage, v,a' rod o' airn. 

Has shored^"* the Kirk's undoin'. 
As lately Fenwick,ff sair forfairn,'* 

Plas proven to its ruin: 
Our patron, honest man ! Glencairn, 

He saw mischief was brewin'; 
And, like a godly elect bairn. 

He's waled"^ us out a true ane, 
And sound this day. 

Now, Robinson, "j:]: harangue nae mair, 

Bui steek your gab''' for ever: 
Or try the Avicked town of Ayr, 

For there they'll think you clever ! 
Or, nae reflection on your lear. 

Ye may commence a shaverj 
Or to the Netherton§«5 repair, 

And turn a carpet-weaver 

AfE hand this day. 

Mutriefl and you were just a matcli. 
We never had sic twa drones: 

Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watcu. 
Just like a winkin' baudrons,"* 

And aye he catch'd the tither wretch, 
To fry them in his caudrons : 

" Merry. '" Low. n Cabbage stems. 

'2 Strings. "Elbows jgri- 1* Threatened. 
'^ Menaced. 1^ Chosen, i' Shut your moulJi. 
" A cat. 

tt Rev. William Boyd, minister of Fenwick, 
whose settlement had been disputed. 

ti The colleague of the newly-ordained 
clergyman — a moderate. 

§§ A part of the town of Kilmarnock. 

nil The deceased clergyman, whom Mjb 
Mackinlay succeeded. 



78 



BURXS" wor.ES. 



But now his honour maun detach, 
Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, 
Fast, fast this day. 

See, see auld Ortliodosy's faes 

She's swingein''^ through the city ; 
Hark, how the nine-tail'd cat she plays! 

I vow its unco pretty : [face. 

There, Learning, with his Greekish 

Grunts out some ]jatin ditty ; 
And Common Sense is gaun, she says, 

To mak to Jamie Beattie f '^ 
Her plaint this day 

But there's Morality himsel, 

Embracing all opinions ; 
Hear how he gies the tither yell, 

Between his twa companions ; 
See how she peels the skin and fell,^" 

As ane were peelin' onions ! 
Now there — they're packed aff to hell. 

And banish'd our dominions 

Henceforth this day. 

O happy day ! rejoice, rejoice ! 

Come bouse about the porter ! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter : 
Llackinlay, Eussell, are the boys. 

That Heresy can torture, 
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse,^' 

And cowe''^ her measure shorter 
By the head some day. 

Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, 

And here's, for a conclusion. 
To every New- Light *** mother's son, 

From this time forth. Confusion : 
If mair they deave'^^ us wi' their din. 

Or patronage intrusion, 
We'll light a spunk, -^ aud, every skin, 

We'll ring them afp in fusion. 
Like oil some day. 

ADDRFSS TO THE UNCO GUID, 
OR THE RIGIDLY RIGHTEOUS. 

" My son , these maxims make a rule, 
And lump them aye thegither : 
The rigid righteous is a lool, 
The rigid wise anither ; 

•* Whipping. 2" The flesh under the skin. 
^^ A swing in a rope. 22 q^i 23 Deafen. 
^■* A match. 

H The well-known author of the " Essay 
on Trath." 

*** " New Light " is a cant phrase, in the 
west of Scotland, for those religious opinions 
which Dr. Taylor of Nor.vich has defended 
so strenuously.— 3. 



The cleanest corn that e'er was dight 
May hae some pyles o" caff in ; 

So ne'er a fellow-creature slight 
tor random fits o' daffin." " 

— SoLOMO.N. — Eccles. vii. 16. 

YE wha are sae guid yoursel, 

Sae i:>ious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark and tell 

Your neibour's fauts and folly ! 
Whase life is lilie a weel-gaun mill, 

Supplied wi' store o' water. 
The heapet tapper's ebbing still. 

And still the clap plays clatter. 

Hear me, ye venerable core, 

As counsel for poor mortals, [dooi 

That frequent past douce^ Wisdom's 
For glaiiit^ Folly's portals; 

I, for their thoughtless, careless sakes, 
Would here propone defences. 

Their donsie^ tricks, their black mis- 
takes. 

Their failings and mischances. 

Yc see your state wi' theirs compared, 

And shudder at the nilTer,* 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What maks the mighty ciilfer ? 
Discount what scant occasion gave. 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave) 

Your better art o' hiding. 

Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop, 
^Vhat raging must his veins convulse, 

That still eternal gallop: 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail. 

Right on ye scud your sea-way; 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail. 

It makes an unco lee-way. 

See social life and glee sit down. 

All joyous and unthinking, [grown 
Till, quite transmugrified,* they're 

Debauchery and drinldng: 
Oh would they stay to calculate 

The eternal consequences: 
Or your more dreaded hell to state. 

Damnation of expenses ! 

Ye high, exalted, virtuous dames. 

Tied up in godly laces. 
Before ye gie poor frailty names. 

Suppose a change o' cases; 

I Thoughtful. 2 Senseless. ^ Unlucky, 
'» Coniparisoa, ' Traasfortaed. 



POEMS. 



73 



A dear-loved lad, convenience snug, 
A treacheroua inclination — 

But, let me whisper i' your lug,^ 
Ye're aiblius^ uae temptation. 

Then gently scan your brother man. 

Still gentler sister v/oman; [wrang, 
Tliougli tliey may gang a kennin'* 

To step aside, is human: 
One point must still bo greatly dark, 

The moving why they do it: 
And just as lamely can ye mark 

How far perhaps they rue it. 

Who made the heart, 'tis He alone 

Decidedly can try us; 
He knows each chord — its various tone, 

Each spring — its various bias: 
Then at the balance let's be mute, 

We never can adjust it; 
What's done we partly may compute. 

But know not what's resisted. 



THE IISVENTORY, 

IN ANSWEK TO A MANDATK BY THE 
SURVEYOK OF TAXES. 

Sir, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faitlifu' list 
0' guids and gear, and a' nry graith. 
To vrliich I'm clear to gie my aith. 

Impriinis, then, for carriage cattle. 
I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle. 
As ever drew afore a pettlc,^ 
My han'afore's'^ a guid auld has-icen. 
And Aviglit and Avillf u' a' his days been 
l.Iy lian'-.ihin's^ a weel-gaun filly, 
That aft has borne me liame fae Killie,* 
And your auld burro' niony a time. 
In days when riding was nae crime — 
But ance, v.'hen in my v/ooing pride, 
I, like a blockhead boost-* to ride. 
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to 
(Lord, pardon a' my sins, and that too!) 
I play'd my filly sic a shavie,^ 
She's a bedevil'd wi' the spavie. 
My fur-ahin's^ a worthy beast. 



8 Ear. '' Perhaps. 8 a little bit. 

' A ploug-h spade. ^ The foremost horse on 
the left-hand in the plough. ^ The hindmost 
horse on the left-hand in the plough. ■* Must 
needs. ^ A trick. ^ The hindmost horse on 
the right-hand* in the plough. 

* Kilmarnock, 



As e'er in tug or tow was traced, [tis. 

The fourth's a Highland Donald has- 

A damn'd red-wud Kilburnie bhxstie ! 

Forbyea cowte,'' o' cowte's the wuie/ 

As ever ran afore a tail; 

If he be spared to be a beast. 

He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least. 

Wheel-carriages I hae but few. 
Three carts, and twa a;e feckly^ new; 
An auld wheelbarrow, niair for token 
Ae leg and baith the trams are broken; 
1 made a poker o' the spin'le. 
And my auld niither brunt the trin'la. 

For men, I've three mischievous boys, 
Run-deils fot rantiu' and for noise 
A gauesman ane, a thrasher t'other; 
Wee Davoc bauds the novi'te in fother'*' 
I rule them, as I ought, discreetly. 
And aften labour them completely; 
And aye on Sundays duly, nightly, 
I on the question targe" them tightly. 
Till, faith, wee Davoc's turn'd sae 

gleg'''' 
Though scarcely langer than my leg. 
He'll screed you alt EiTectual Callingf 
As fast as ony in the dwalling. 

I've nane in female servan' station, 
(Lord, keep nie ae f rae a' temptation !) 
I hae nae wife, and that my bliss is, 
And ye hae laid nae tax on misses ; 
And then, if kirk folks dinua clutch 

me, 
I ken the devils darena touch me. 
Wi' weans I'm mair than weel con- 
tented. 
Heaven sent me ane mair than I wanted. 
My sonsie,''* smirking, dear-bouglit 

Bess.:j: 
She stares the daddy in lier face. 
Enough of ought you like but grace ; 
But her, my bonny sweet wee lady, 
I've paid enough for her already. 
And gin ye tax her or her mither, 
B' the Lord ! ye'se get them a' tlie- 
gither. 

' A colt. » Choice. » Nearly. i" Keeps 
the cattle in fodder. "Task. 12 So sha.^. 
'^ Comely. 

t A leading question in the Shorter Cate- 
chism of the Westminster Assembly cf di- 
vines. 

i A child born to the poet by a female ser- 
vant of his mouicr's 



80 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of license out I'm taken ; 
Frae this time forth I do declare, 
I'se ne'er ride horse nor hizzie niair ; 
Through dirt and dub for life I'll 

paidie, '^ 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ; 
My travel a' on foot I'll shaalj.^= it, 
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thankit. 
The kirk and you may tak you that, 
It puts but little in your pat ; 
Sae dinna put me in your buke, 
Nor for my ten vi^hite shillings luke. 

This list wi' my ain hand I've wrote 
it, 
The day and date as under noted ; 
Then know all ye whom it concerns, 
Bubscripsi liiiic, Eobekt Bxjuns. 

MOSSGIEL, February 22, 1786. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

(M TUKNINa ONE DOWN WITH THE 
PLOUGH IN APEIL, 1876. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure' 

Thy slender stem . 
To spare thee now is past my power, 

Thou bonny gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neibor sweet. 
The bonny lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 

Wi' speckled breast, 
When upward springing, blithe, to 
greet, 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth ; 
Yet cheerfully thou glinted^ forth. 

Amid the storm. 
Scarce rear'd above the parent earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, 
High sheltering woods and wa's maun 

shield ; 
But thou, beneath the random bield^ 

O' clod or stane, 
Adorns the Iiistie^ stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 



14 Tramp. i^ Walk. 
» Dust. "^ Peeped. ' Shelter. ■« Barren. 



There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
I'hy snawie bosom sun-ward spread. 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise ; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

And low thou lies ! 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet floweret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray'd. 

And guileless trust, 
Till slie, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard. 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd I 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore. 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard. 

And wlielm him o'er ! 

Sucli fate to suffering worth is given. 
Who long with wants and woes haa 

striven. 
By human pride or cunning driven. 

To misery's brink. 
Till wrench'd of every stay but heaven. 

He, ruin'd, sink ! 

Even thou who mourn'st the Daisy's 

fate. 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate. 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crush'd beneath th.e furrow's 
weight. 

Shall be thy doom 1 



LAMENT, 

OCCASIONED BY THE UNTOETTJNATE 
ISSUE OF A friend's AMOUR. 

After mentioning the appearance of " Holy 
Willie's Prayer," which alarmed the kirk- 
session so much that they held several meet- 
ings to look over their spiritual artillery, if 
haply any of it might be pointed against 
profane rhymers, Burns states :— " Unluck- 
ily for me, my wanderings led me on anoth- 
er side, within point-blank shot of their 
heaviest metal. This is the unfortunate 
story that gave rise to my printed poem, 
'The Lament.' This was a most melan- 
choly affair, which I cannot yet bear to re- 
flect on, and had very nearly given me one 
or two of the principal qualifications for a 
place among those who have lost the charac- 
ter, and mistaken the reckoning of rational- 
ity. I had been for some days skulking from 
covert to covert, under all the terrors of a 
jail ; as some ill-advised people had uucou-. 



POEMS. 



8t 



pled the merciless pack of the law at my 
heels. I had taken the last farewell of my 
few friends ; my chest was on the road to 
Greenock ; I had composed the last song- I 
should ever measure in Caledonia, ' The 
Gloomy Night is Gathering Fast,' when a 
letter from Dr. Blacklock to a friend of mine 
overthrew all my schemes, by opening new 
prospects to my poetic ambition." 
It is scarcely necessary," Gilbert Burns 
says, " to mention that ' The Lament ' was 
com_posed on that unfortunate passage in 
his matrimonial history which I have men- 
tioned in my letter to Mrs. Dunlop, [allud- 
ing to his connexion with Jean Armour.] 
After the first distraction of his feelings had 
subsided, that conne.xion could no longer be 
concealed. Robert durst not engage with a 
family in his poor, unsettled state, but was 
anxious to shield his partner by every means 
in his power, from the consequences of 
their imprudence. It was agreed, therefore, 
between them, that they should make a 
legal acknowledgment of an irregular and 
private marriage, that he should go to Ja- 
maica to ^ush his fortune^ and that she 
should remain with her father till it might 
please Providence to put the means of sup- 
porting a family in his power." 

" Alas ! hov/ oft does goodness wound it- 
self, 
And sweet affection prove the spring of 
woe 1" — Home. 

THOU pale orb, tliat silent shines, 
Willie care-imtroubled. mortals sleep ! 

Tliou seest a wretcb tliat inly pines, 
And wanders liere to wail and weep ! 

With woe I nightly vigils keep 

Beneath fcliy wan, un warming beam; 

And mourn, in lamentation deep, 
How life and love are all a dieam. 

1 joyless view thy rays adorn 

The faintly -marked distant hill: 
I joyless view thy trembling horn. 

Reflected in the gurgling rill: 
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still ! 

Thou busy power, remembrance 
cease ! 
Ah ! must the agonising thrill 

For ever bar returning peace ! 

No idly-feign'd poetic pains 

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim; 
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains; 

Nu fabled tortures, qitaint and tame; 
The plighted faith; the mutual flame; 

The oft-attested Powers above; 
The promised father's tender name; 

These were the pledges of my love ! 

Encircled in her clasping arms, [flown, 
Hov/ have the raptured moments 



How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, 
For her dear sake, and hers alone ! 

And must I thinlc it ! — is she gone. 
My secret heart's exulting boast ? 

And does she heedless hear my groan ? 
And is she ever, ever lost ? 

Oh ! can she bear so base a heart. 

So lost to honour, lost to truth. 
As from the fondest lover part, 

The plighted husband of her youth ! 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie through rough dis- 
tress ! [soothe. 
Then v/ho her pangs and pains will 

Her sorrows share, and make them 
less? 

Ye winged hours that o'er us pass'd, 

Enraptured more, the more enjoy'd, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My fondly-treasured thoughts em- 

ploy'd. [void. 

That breast, how dreary now, and 

For her too scanty once of room 1 
Even every ray of hope destroy'd, 

And not a wish to gild the gloom 1 

The morn that warns th' approaching 
day. 

Awakes me np to toil and woe : 
I see the hours in long array. 

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train. 
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, 

Shall kiss the distant, western main. 

And when my nightly couch I try. 

Sore harass'd out vyith care and 

grief, [eye. 

My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn 

Keep watchings with the nightly 
thief: 
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief, [fright: 

Reigns haggard-wild, in soar af- 
Even day, all-bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 

thou bright queen, who o'er th' ex- 
panse, [sway ! 

Now highest reign'st with boundless 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observed us, fondly wandering stray! 
The time unheeded, sped away, [liigh. 

While love's luxurious pulse beat 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray. 

To mark the mutual kindling eye. 



83 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Oh ! scenes In strong remembrance set 1 

Scenes never, never to return ! 
Scenes, if in stupor 1 forget, 

Again 1 feel, again I burn ! 
From every joy and pleasure torn, 

Life's weary vale I wander tlirougli; 
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 

A faithless woman's broken vow. 



DESPONDENCY : 

AN ODE. 

A sorrow or a cross is half conquered when, by 
lelhng it, some dear friend becomes, as it 
were, a sharer m it. Burns poured out Ins 
troubles m verse with a like result. He 
says, " I think it is one of the greatest 
pleasures attending a poetic genius, that we 
can give our woes, cares, joys, and loves, an 
embodied form in verse, which to me is 
ever immediate ease." 

Oppeess'd with grief, oppress'd with 

care, 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I set me down and sigh: 
life ! thou art a galling load, 
Along a rough and weary road, 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim backward as I cast my view, 
What sickening scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me 
through, 
Too justly I may fear ! 
Still caring, despairing, 

Must be my bitter doom: 
My woes here shall close ne'er, 
But with the closing tomb ! 

Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Even when the wish'd end's denied. 
Yet while the busy means are plied. 

They bring their own reward: 
Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight. 

Unfitted with an aim. 
Meet every sad returning night 
And joyless morn the same; 
You, bustling, and justling, 

Forget each grief and pain; 
I, listless, yet restless. 
Find every prospect vain. 

How blest the solitary's lot. 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot. 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling roots. 



Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his evening thought. 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint collected dream; 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to heaven on high, 
As wand'ring, meand'ring. 
He views the solemn sky. 

Than I, no lonely hermit placed 
Where never human footstep traced, 

Less fit to play the part ; 
The lucky moment to improve. 
And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self- respecting art : [joys 

But, ah ! those pleasures, loves, and 

Which I too keenly taste. 
The solitary can despise. 
Can want, and yet be blest I 
He needs not, he heeds not. 

Or human love or hate. 
Whilst I here, must cry here 
At perfidy ingrate ! 

Oh! enviable, early days, [maze, 

Wlien dancing thoughtless pleasure's 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchanged for riper times. 
To feel the follies, or the crimes. 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport. 

Like linnets in the bush, 
Ye little know the ills je court. 
When manhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses. 

That active man engage ! 
The fears all, the tears all, 
Of dim declining age ! 



ODE TO RUIN. 

Currie says : — " It appears from internal evi- 
dence that the above lines were composed 
m 1786, when ' Hungry Ruin had him in tha 
wind.' The ' dart' that 

' Cut my dearest tie. 
And quivers in my heart, 

is evidently an allusion to his separation 
from his ' bonny Jean.' Bums seems to 
have glanced mto futurity with a prophetic 
eye : images of misery and woe darkened 
the distant vista : and when he looked back 
on his career he saw little to console him. — 
' I have been, this morning,' he observes, 
' taking a peep through, as Young finely 
says, The dark postern of time long 



POEMS. 



83 



elapsed." 'Twas a rueful prospect ! Vvhct 
a tissue of' thoughtlessness, weiikness, and 
folly ! My life reminded me of a ruined 
temple. What strength, what proportion, 
in some parts ! What unsightly gaps, what 
prostrate ruin in others i I kneeled down 
before the Father of mercies and said, 
" Father, I have sinned against heaven, and 
in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be 
called thy son." 1 rose, eased and strength- 
ened.' " 

AiA. liail ! inexorable lord ! 

At vvliose destructiou breathing word 

The mightiest empires fall \ 
Thy cruel, woe-de!ighted train, 
The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all ! 
With stern-resolved, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie. 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then lowering and pouring. 

The storm no more I dread; 
Though thicii'ning and black'ning, 
Kound my devoted head. 

And thou grimpower, bylifeabhorr'd, 
While life a pleasure can afford. 

Oh ! hear a wretch's prayer i 
No more I shrink appall'd, afraid; 
I court, I beg thy friendly aid 
To close this scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace 

Resign life's joyless day; 
My v/eary heart its throbbings cease 
Cold mouldering in the clay ? 
No fear more, no tear more. 
To stain my lifeless face; 
Enclasped, and. grasped 
Within thy cold embrace ! 



ADDRESS OF BEELZEBUB 

TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE HIGHLAND 
SOCIETY. 

The history of this poem is as follows : — " On 
Tuesday, May 23, there was a meeting of 
the Highland Society at London for the en- 
couragement of the fisheries in the High- 
lands, &c. Three thousand pounds were 
immediately subscribed by eleven gentlemen 
present for this particular purpose. The 
Earl of Breadalbane informed the meeting 
that five hundred persons had agreed to 
emigrate from the estates of Mr. Macdonald 
of Glengarry ; that they had subscribed 
money, purchased ships, &c., to carry their 
design into effect. The noblemen and gen- 
tlemen agreed to co-operate with the Gov- 
ernment to frustrate their design ; and to 
recommend to the principal noblemen and 



gentlemen in the Highlands to endeavour to 
prevent emigration, by improving the fish- 
eries, agriculture, and manufactures, and 
particularly to enter into a subscription for 
that purpose." This appeared in th&£dzn- 
baygh Advertiser of 30th May, 17S6. Re- 
membering the outcry made a few years 
ago against Highland evictions, we cannot 
help being somewiiat surprised at the poet's 
indignation. Mackensie of Applecross, who 
figures m the poem, was a liberal landowner. 
Mr. Knox, in his tour of the Highlands, 
v/ritten about the same time as the Address, 
states that he had relinquished all feudal 
claims upon the labour of his tenants, paying 
them for their labour. The Address first 
appeared m the Scofs Magazine with the 
following headmg: — "To the Right Hon- 
ourable the Earl of Breadalbane, President 
of the Right Honourable and Honourable 
the Highland Society, which met on the 23d 
of May last, at the Shakespeare, Covent 
Garden, to concert ways and means to frus- 
trate the designs of five hundred Highland- 
ers, who, as the Society were mformed by 

Mr. M — — of A s, were so audacious as 

to attempt an escape from their lawful lords 
and masters, whose property they were, by 
emigrating from the lands of Mr. Macdon- 
ald of Glengarry, to the wilds of Canada, in 
search of that fantastic thing, Liberty." 

Long life, my lord, and health be yours 
Unscaith'd by hunger'd Highland 

boors ;^ [gar. 

Lord, grant nae duddie''' desperate beg- 
Wi' dirk, claymore, or rusty trigger, 
J.Iay twin auld Scotland o' a hfe 
She likes — as lambkins like a knife. 

Faith, you and A s Avere right 

To keep the Highland hounds in sight: 
1 doubt na ! they wad bid nae better 
Then let them ance out owre the 

water; 
Then up ainang thae lakes and seas 
They'll mak what lailes and laws they 

please; 
Some daring Hancock, or a Franklin, 
May set their Highland bluid a ranlc- 

lin'; [them. 

Some Washington again may head 
Or some Montgomery, fearless lead 

them, 
Till God knows what may be effected 
When by such heads and hearts di- 
rected — 
Poor dunghill sons of dirt and mire 
May to Patrician rights aspire ! [ville, 
Nae sage North, now, nor sager Sack- 
To Vi'atch and premier o'er the pack 

vile, 

' Clodhoppers. ^ Ragged. 



84 



BURis-S' works; 



And wliare will ye get Howes and 

Clintons 
To bring them to a rigiit repentance. 
To cowe the rebel generation, 
And save the honour o' the nation ? 
They and be damn'd ! what right hae 

they 
To meat or sleep, or light o' day ? 
Far less to riches, power, or freedom, 
Bnt what your lordship likes to gie 
them? 

But hear, my lord ! Glengarry, hear! 
Tour hand's owre light on them, I fear! 
Your factors, grieves, trustees and 

bailies, 
I canua say but they do gaylies;^ 
Then lay aside a' tender mercies. 
And tirl the hallions to the birses;"* 
Yet while they're only poiad't and 

herriet,^ [spirit ; 

They'll keep their stubborn Highland 
But smash them ! crash them a' to 

spalls !" 
And rot the dyvors' i' the jails ! 
The young dogs, sv/inge* them to the 

labour; 
Let wark and hunger mak them sober! 
The hizzies, if they're aughtlius faw- 

sont,^ 
Let them in Drury Lane be lesson'd ! 
And if the wives and dirty brats 
E'en thigger'" at your doors and yetts,'' 
Flaffan wi' duds and gray wi' beas',^'^ 
Frightin' awa' your deucks and geese. 
Get out a horsewhip or a jowler,'* 
The langest thong, the fiercest growler, 
And gar'"* the tatter'd gyjisies pack 
Wi' a' their bastards on their back I 
Go on, my lord I I lang to meet you. 
And in my house at hame to greet you; 
Wi' common lords ye shanna mingle. 
The benmost neuk'* beside the ingle, ^^ 
At my right han' assign'd your seat, 
'Tween Plerod's hip and Polycrate, — 
Or if you on your station tarrow," 
Between Almagro and Pizzaro, 
A scat, I'm sure ye're well deservin't; 
And till ye come — Your humble ser- 
vant, Beelzebub. 

yune rst. Anno Mimd i. qyoo [a. d. 1786.] 

2 Pretty well. ^ And strip the clowns to the 
skin. ^ Sold out and despoiled. ^ Chips, 
^ Bankrupts. ^ Whip. " The girls if they 
be at all handsome. "Beg. "Gates. 

12 Fluttering in rags and gray with vermin. 
ISA dog. '''Make. i'' The innermost 

corner. 1* Fire place. *' Complain. 



A DREAM. 

The publication of " The Dream " in the Ed- 
inburgh edition ot the poems, according to 
tnany, did much to injure the poet v/ith the 
dispensers of Government patronage. Mrs. 
Dunlop and others endeavoured in vain to 
prevent its publication. The free-spoken 
and humourous verses of Burns contrast odd- 
ly with the servile ode of Warton, which 
Burns represents himself as having fallen 
asleep in reading. 

" Thoughts, words, and deeds, the statute 
blames with reason ; 
But surely dreams were ne'er indicted 
treason." 

On reading in the public papers the Laureate's 
" Ode,"* with the other parade of June 4, 
1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep 
than he imagined himself transported to the 
birthday levee ; and in his dreaming fancy 
made the following Address. — Burns. 

Guid-mornin' to your Majesty ! 

May Heaven augment your blisses. 
On every new birthday ye see, 

A humble poet wishes ! 
My bardship here, at your levee, 

On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncouth sight to see. 

Among thae birthday dresses 
Sae fine this day. 

I see ye're complimented thrang, 

By many a lord and lady: 
" God save the king" 's a cuckoo sang 

That's unco easy said aye; 
The poets, too, a venal gang; 

Wi' rhymes weel-turn'd and ready, 
Wad gar ye trow^ ye ne'er do wrang, 

But aye unerring steady, 
On sic a day. 

For me, before a monarch's face. 
Even there I winna flatter; 

For neither pension, post, nor place, 
Am I your humble debtor: 

1 Would make you believe. 

* Thomas Warton then filled this office. 
His ode for June 4, 1786, begins as follows : — 
" When freedom nursed her native fire 
In ancient Greece, and ruled the lyi'e. 
Her bards disdainful, from the tyrant's 
brow 
The tinsel gifts of flattery tore. 
But paid to guiltless power their v.-illing 
vow. 
And to the throne of virtuous kings," 
&c. 
On these verses, the rhymes of the Aj^rshire 
bard must be allowed to form an odd enough 
commentary. — Chamseks. 



POEMS. 



8S 



So, nae reflection on your grace. 

Your kingsliip to bespatter; 
Tliere's mony waur- been o' the race, 

And aiblins^ ane been better 
Tlian you this day. 

'Tis very true, my sovereign king, 

My skill may weel be doubted: 
But facts are chiels that winna ding,^ 

And downa^ be disputed: 
Your royal nest, beneath your wing. 

Is e'en right reft and clouted"^ 
And now the third part of the string, 

And less ■will gang about it 
Than did ae day.f 

Far be't f rae me that I aspire 

To blame your legislation. 
Or say, ye Avisdom want, or fire, 

To rule this mighty nation ! 
But, faith ! I muckle doubt, my sire, 

Te've trusted ministration 
To chaps,' wha, in a barn or byre. 

Wad better fill'd their station 

Than courts yon day. 

And now ye've gien auld Britain peace. 
Her broken shins to plaister: 

Your f:air taxation does her fleece, 
Till she has scarce a tester: 

For me, thank God, my life's a lease, 
Kae bargain wearing faster, 

Or, faith ! I fear that wi' the geese, 

1 shortly boost** to pasture 

1' the craft some day. 

I'm no mistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes he enlarges, 
(And Will's a true guid fallow's get,:]: 

A name not envy spairges.)^ 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

And lessen a' your charges; 
But, God-sake ! let nae saving fit 

Abridge your bonny barges § 
And boats this day. 

2 Many worse. ^ Perhaps. * Beat. ^ Will 
not. ^ Broken and patched. ' Fellows. 
^ Behoved. ^ Bespatters. 

t In this verse the poet alludes to the im- 
mense curtailment of the British dominion at 
the close of the American war, and the cession 
of the territory of Louisiana to Spain. 

t Gait, gett, or gyte, a homely substitute for 
the word child in Scotland. The above stanza 
is not the only testimony of admiration which 
Bums pays to the great Earl of Chatham. 

§ On the supplies for the navy being voted, 
spring, 17S6, Captain Macbride couascllcd 



Adieu, my liege ! may Freedom geck'^ 

Beneath your high protection ; 
And may you rax^' Corruption's neck. 

And gie her for dissection ! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect. 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your queen, with due respect, ] 

My fealty and subjection 

This great birthday. 

Hail, Majesty Most Excellent ! 

While nobles strive to please ye. 
Will ye accept a compliment 

A simple poet gies ye ? [lent, 

Thae bonnie bairn-time,^'- Heaven has 

Still higher may they heeze^^ ye 
In bliss, till fate some day is sent. 

For ever to release ve 

Frae care that day. 

For you, young potentate o' Wales, 

I tell your highness fairly [sails, 
Down pleasure's stream, wi' swelling 

I'm tanld ye're driving rarely; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails. 

And curse your folly sairly. 
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, 

Or rattled dice wi' Charlie, || 
By night or day. 

Yet aft a ragged cowte's^^ been known 

To mak a noble aiveri^^ 
So, ye may doucely"' fill a throne. 

For a' their clish-ma-claver;^'' 
There, him at Agincourt *?[ wha shone, 

Few better were or braver: 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John,** 

He was an unco shaver''* 

For mony a day. 

For you, right reverend Osnabtirg.ff 
Nane sets the lawn-sleeve sweeter. 

Although a ribbon at your lug 
Wad been a dress completer: 

As ye disown yon paughty''-* dog 
That bears the keys o' Peter, 

Then, swith ! and get a wife to hug. 



10 Lift her head. " Stretch. 1= Children, 
'3 Raise. " Colt. '= Horse. " Wisely. 
'■^ Idle scandal. i^ j^ humourous wag. 
13 Haughty. 

some changes in that force, particularly tbo 
giving up of 64-gun ships, which occasioned a 
good deal of discussion. 

11 The Right Hon. Charles Jaines Fox. 
t King Henry V.— B. 

=1^* Sir John Fa [staff— z-zV^ Shakespeare.— B. 
tt Tiis Dake of York. ._ -- 



BURNS' WOUKS. 



Or, troutli ! ye'll stain the mitre 
Some luckless day. 

Young, royal Tarry Breeks,:j::j: I learn, 

Ye've lately come atliwart her; 
A glorious gall ey,gS stem and stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter; 
But first hang out, that she '11 discern. 

Your hymeneal charter. 
Then heave aboard your grapple-airn. 

And, large upon her quarter. 
Come full that day. 

Ye, lastly, bonny blossoms a', 

Ye royal lasses dainty. 
Heaven mak you guid as vs^eel as braw, 

And gie you lads a-plenty : 
But sneer na British boys awa', 

For kings are unco scant aye f^ 
And German gentles are but sma'. 

They're better just than want aye 
On ony day. 

God bless you a' ! consider now, 

Ye're unco muckle dautit ;'^' 
But ere the course o' life be through, 

It may be bitter sautit :^^ 
And I hae seen their coggie f u' f^ 

That yet hae tarrow't '■'* at it ; 
But or the day was done, I trow, 

The laggen they hae clautit^* 
Fu' clean that day. 



THE HOLY PAIR.* 

This is by far the ablest of the satires Bums 
levelled at the Church ; and his worst ene- 
mies could not avoid confessing that it was 
as well deserved as it was clever. Scenes 
such as the poet describes had become a 
scandal and a disgrace to the Church. The 
poem was met by a storm of abuse from his 
old enemies ; but, amid all their railings, 
they did not fail to lay it to heart, and from 
that time forward there was a manifest im- 
provement in the bearing of ministers and 
people on such occasions. This is not 
the least of its merits in the eyes of his 
countrj'men of the present day. Notwith- 
standing the daring levity of some of its al- 
lusions and incidents, the poet has strictly 
confined himself to the sayings and doings 
of the assembled multitude — the sacred rite 
itself is never once mentioned. 

^° Always scarce. ^^ Too much flattered. 
22 Salted. 23 Platter full. =* Grumbled. 

25 They have scraped out the dish. 

tX William IV., then Duke of Clarence. 

§§ AUudiug to the newspaper account of a 
certain royal sailor's amour. 

* Holy Fair is a common phrase in the west 
of Scotland for a sacramental occasion. — B. 



" A robe of seeming truth and trust 
Hid crafty observation ; 
And secret hung, with poison'd crust, 

The dirk of Defamation : 
A mask that like the gorget show'd, 

Dye-varying on the pigeon ; 
And for a mantle, large and broad. 
He wrapt him in Religion." 

— Hypocrisy ci-la-Mode, 

Upon a simmer Sunday morn. 

When IS ature's face is fair, 
I walked forth to view the corn. 

And snufE the caller' air. 
The rising sun owre Galstonf muirs, 

Wi' glorious light was glintin';'-^ 
The hares were hirplin^ down the furs,* 

The lav'rocks they were chantin' 
Fu' sweet that day. 

As lightsomely I glower'd^ abroad. 

To see a scene sae gay. 
Three hizzies,** early at the road, 

Cam skelpin' up the way; 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, 

But ane v/i' lyarf lining; 
The third, that gaed a- wee a-back, 

Was in the fashion shining 
Fu' gay that day. 

The twa appear'd like sisters twin. 

In feature, form, and claes; 
Their visage, wither'd, lang, and thin. 

And sour as ony slaes: 
The third cam up, hap-step-and-lowp, 

As light as ony lambie, 
And wi' a curchie low did stoop. 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 
Fu' kind that day. 

Wi' bonnet afE, quoth I, ' 'Sweet lass, 

I think ye seem to ken me; 
I'm sure I've seen that bonny face. 

But yet I canna name ye. " 
Quo' she, and laughin' as she spak, 

And taks me by the hands, 
" Ye, for my sake, hae gien the feck' 

Of a' the ten commands 

A screed some day. 

' ' My name is Fun — your crony dear. 

The nearest friend ye hae; 
Aiid this is Superstition here, 

And that's Hypocrisy. 
I'm gaun to Mauchline holy fair, 

' Fresh. ^ Glancing. ^ Limping. * Fur- 
rows, * Looked. ' Wenches. ' Gray, ^ Most. 

t The adjoining parish to T.Iauchline. 



POEMS. 



87 



To spend an hour in dafiin' f 
Gin ye'li go there, jon runkled pair, 
We will get famous laugMn', 
At them this day." 

Quoth I, " With a' my heart, I'll do't, 

I'll get my Sunday's sark'" on. 
And meet you on the holy spot ; 

Faith, we'se hae fine remarkin'!' 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie-time, " 

And soon I made me ready; 
For roads were clad, f rae side to side, 

Wi' uiony a ^veary body, 

In droves that day. 

Here farmers gash,'^ in ridin' graith," 

Gaed hoddin'^^ by their cotters; 
There, swankies''' young, in braw 
braid claith. 
Are springin' owre the gutters; 
The lasses, skelpin' barefit, thrang, 

In silks and scarlets glitter; 
Wi' sweet-milk cheese, in mony a 
whang, ^^ 
And farls," baked wi' butter, 
Fu' crump that day. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 
Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 

A greedy glower Black-bonnet:]: throws, 
And we maun draw our tippence. 

Then in we go to see the show, 
On very side they're gath'rin' 

Some carrying dails,'* some chairs and 
stools, 

• And some are busy bleth'rin'^' 
Right loud that day. 

Here stands a shed to fend the showers. 

And screen our country gentry, 
There Racer Jess,§ and twa-three 
whores. 



» Sport. "Shirt. ^ Breakfast-time, i' Sen- 
sible. 13 Attire. ^* Jogging, i^ Striplings. 
'" Cu{. i'^ Cakes. ^^ pianks, or boards, to 
sit on. 1" Qiatting. 

$ A colloquial appellation bestowed on the 
church elders or deacons, v/ho in landward 

garishes in the olden time generally wore 
lack bonnets on Sundays, when they offici- 
ated at " the plate " in making the usual col- 
lection for the poor. — IMotherwell. 

§ The following notice of Racer Jess ap- 
peared in tlie newspapers of February, i8i8 : — 
' Died at Mauchline a few weeks since, Janet 
Gibson, consigned to immortality by Burns in 
his ' Holy Fafr ' under the turf appellation of 
' Racer Jess.' She was the daughter of ' Poo- 
sie Nansie,' who figures in ' The Jolly Beg- 
gai's.' She was reniarkable for her pedestrian 



Are blinkin' at the entry. 
Here sits a raw of tittlin'^° jades, 

Wi' heaving breast and bare neck, 
And there a batch o' wabster lads. 

Blackguarding f rae Kilmarnock, 
For fun this day. 

Here some are thinkin' on their sins. 

And some upo' their claes; 
Aug curses feet that fyled'^^ his shins, 

Anither sighs and prays: I 

On this hand sits a chosen swatch, ^^ 

Wi' screw'd-up grace-proud faces; 
On that a set o' chaps at watch, 

Thrang winkin' on the lasses 
To chairs that day. 

Oh, happy is that man and blest 1 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Whase ane dear lass, that he likes best. 

Comes clinkin' down beside him ! 
Wi' arm-reposed on the chair back. 

He sweetly does compose him; 
Which, by degrees, slips round het 
neck. 

All's loof^* upon her bosom, 

Unkenn'd that day. 

Now a' the congregation o'er 

Is silent expectation: 
For Moodiell speels'-'^ the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation. 
Should Hornie, as in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' God present him. 
The very sight o' Moodie's face 

To's ain het hame had sent him 
Wi' fright that day. 

Hear how he clears the points o' faith 
Wi' rattlin' and wi' thumpin' ! 

Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 
He's stampin' and he's jumpin' ! 

His lengthen'd chin, his turn'd-up 
snout, 

20 Whispering. ^i Soiled. ^2 Sample. 
23 Hand. 24 Climbs. 

powers, and sometimes ran long distances for 
a wager." 

1 Moodie was the minister of Riccarton, and 
one of the heroes of " The Twa Herds." He 
was a never-tailing assistant at the IMauchline 
sacraments. His personal appearance and 
style of oratory were exactly such as described 
by the poet. He dwelt chiefly on the terrors 
of the law. On one occasion he told the audi- 
ence that they would find the text in John 
viii. 44, but it was so applicable to their case 
that there was no need of his reading it to 
them. The verse begins, " Ye are of your 
father the devil." 



88 



BURNS' WORKS. 



His eldritcli ^^ squeal, and gestures, 
Oh, liow they fire the heart devout, 
Like cantharidian plasters, 
On sic a day ! 

But, hark ! the tent has changed its 
voice ! 

There 's peace and rest nae langer : 
For a' the real judges rise. 

They canna sit for anger. 
Smithy opens out his cauld harangues 

On practice and on morals ; 
And aff the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars and barrels 
A lift that day. 

VvTiat signifies his barren shine 

Of moral powers and reason ? 
His English style and gesture fine, 

Are a' clean out o' season. 
Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld pagan heathen. 
The moral man he does define. 

But ne'er a vi^ord o' faith in 

That 's right that day. 

In guid time comes an antidote 

Against .sic poison'd nostrum ; 
For Peebles, frae the Water-fit,** 

Ascends the holy rostrum : 
See, up he 's got the Word o' God, 

And meek and mim-" has view'd it, 
While Common Sense f f has taken the 
road. 

And 's aii and up the Cowgate,:j:J 
Fast, fast, that day. 

26 Unearthly. ^6 Primly. 

^ Mr. (afterwards Dr.) Georg-e Smith, min- 
ister of Galston — the same whom the poet in- 
troduces, in a different feeling, under the ap- 
pellation of Irvine-side, in " The Kirk's 
Alarm." Burns meant on this occasion to 
compliment him on his rational mode of 
preaching, but the reverend divine regarded 
the stanza as satirical. 

**Tha Rev. Mr. (afterwards Dr.) William 
Peebles, minister of Newton-upon-Ayr, some- 
times named, from its situation, tJte Water-Jit^ 
and the moving hand in the prosecution of 
Dr. M'Gill, on which acccant he is introduced 
into " The Kirk's Alarm." He was in great 
favour at Ayr among the orthodox party, 
though much inferior in ability to the hetero- 
do.x ministers of thaL ancient burgh. 

tt Dr. Mackenzie, then of Mauchline, after 
wards of Irvine, had recently conducted some 
village controversy under the title of " Com- 
mon Sense." Some local commentators are of 
opinion that he, and not the personified ab- 
straction ig meant. 

$J A street so called which faces the tent in 



Wee Miller§§ neist the guard relieves. 

And orthodoxy raibles,"^' 
Though in his heart he weel believes 

And thinks it auld wives' fables: 
But, faith ! the birkie wants a manse. 

So, cannily he hums them; 
Although his carnal wit and sense 

Like hafiiins-ways'-^ o'ercomes him 
At times that day. 

Now but and ben the change-house fills 

Wi' yill-caup commentators: 
Here's crying out for bakes^^ and gills. 

And there the pint-stoup clatters: 
While thick and'thrang, and loud and 
lang, 

Wi' logic and wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din, that, in the end. 

Is like to breed a rupture 

0' wrath that day. 

Leeze me on drink ! it gies us mair 

Than either school or college: 
It kindles wit, it waukens lair. 

It pangs'*" us fou o' knowledge, 
Be't whisky gill, or penny wheep. 

Or ony stronger potion. 
It never fails, on drinking deep, 

To kittle^^ up our notion 

By night or day. 

The lads and lasses, blithely bent. 

To mind baith saul and body, 
Sit round the table weel content. 

And steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, and that ane's leuk. 

The' re making observations; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk,^^ 

And forming assignations 

To meet some day. 

But now the Lord's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rarin'. 
And echoes back return the shouts. 

Black Russell III is na sparin'; 

-'' Rattles. 28 Like Hafflins-ways— almost. 
-^ Biscuits. 3" Crams. ^^ Rouse. ^^ Snug in 
the corner. 

Mauchline.— B. The same street in which 
Jean Armour lived. 

§§ The Rev. Mr. Miller, afterwards ministei 
of Kilmaurs. He was of remarkably low 
stature, but enormous girth. Burns believed 
him at the time to lean at heart to the moder- 
ate party. This stanza, virtually the most de- 
preciatory in the whole poem, is said to have 
retarded Miller's advancement. 

I!!l The Rev. John Russell, at this time minis, 
ler of the chapel of ease, Kilmarnock, after 



POEMS. 



His piercing words, like Highland 
swords, 
Divide the joints and marrow; 
His talk o' hell, wh.are devils dwell; 
Our vera sauls does harrow '^*|[ 
Wi' fright that day. 

A vast, nnbottom'd, boundless pit, 

Fill'd fu' o' lowin' brunstane, 
Whase ragiu' flame, and scorchin' heat. 

Wad melt the hardest whunstane ! 
The half-asleep start up wi' fear. 

And think they hear it roarin', 
When presently it does appear 

'Twas but some neibor snoria' 
Asleep that day. 

'Twad be owre lang a tale to tell 

How mony stories past. 
And how they crowded to the yill 

When they were a' dismist : 
How drink gaed round, in cogs and 
caups. 

Among the forms and benches: [laps 
And cheese and bread, frae women's 

Was dealt about in lunches. 

And dauds"-* that day. 

In comes a gaucie,^^ gash^= guidwife, 

And sits down by the fire, [Ivnife; 
Sjme draws her kebbuck"^ and her 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother, 
Till some ane by his bonnet lays, 

And gies them't like a tether, 
Fu' lang that day. 

Waesucks !^' for him tliat gets nae lass, 

Or lasses that hae naething! 
Sma' need has he to say a grace. 

Or melvie^*^ his braw claithing! 
O wives, be mindfu' ance yersel 

How bonny lads ye wanted, 
And dinna, for a kebbuck-heel,^* 

Let lasses be affronted 
On sic a day! 



3' Lumps. ^* Fat. ^^ Sagacious. '^ Cheese. 
87 Alas. 38 Soil. S9 Cheese-crust, 
wards minister of Stirling— one of the heroes 
of " The Twa Herds." "He was," says a cor- 
respondent of Cunningham's, " the most tre- 
mendous man I aver saw ; Black Hug-h Mac- 
pherson was a beauty in comparison. His 
voice was like thunder, and his sentiments 
were such as must have shocked any class of 
hearers in the least more .-efined than those 
whom he usually addressed." 
^ 11 Shakespeare's " Hamlet.' — B. 



Now Clinlcumbell, wi' rattlin' tow, 

Begins to jow and croon;* [dow" 
Some swagger hame, the best they 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps*'' the billies'*^ halt a blink. 

Till lasses strip their slioon: [drink, 
Wi' faith and hope, and love and 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

How mony hearts this day converts 

0' sinners and o' lasses! [gaue. 

Their hearts o' stane, gin night, are 

As saft as ony flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine; 

There's some are fou o' brandy; 
And mony jobs that day begin 

May end in houghmagandy*^ 
Some ither day. 



VERSES ON A SCOTCH BARD, 

GONE TO THK WEST INDIES. 

The following playfully personal lines were 
written by the poet when he thought he 
v.'as about to leave the country in 1786 for 
Jamaica: — 

A' YE Avlia live by sowps 0' drink, 
A' ye wha live by crambo-clink, ^ 
A' ye wha live and never think. 

Come, mourn wi' me I 
Our billie'sgien us a' a jinlc,- 

And owre the sea. 

Lament him a' ye rantin' core, 
Wha dearly like a random splore,^ 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar 

In social key; 
For now he's taken anither shore, 

And owre the sea! 

The bonny lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their dear petitions place him ; 
The widows, wives, and a' may bless 
him, 

Wi' tearfu' ee; 
For weel I wat^ they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the sea! 
O Fortune, they hae room to grumble! 



*" Sing and groan. ^' Can. ■'^ Breaches 
in fences. *^ Lads. ** Fornication. 

' Versifying. « "Our friend has eluded as." 
J Frolic. ■» Well I know. 



90 



BURNS' -WORKS. 



Hadst tliou ta'en af£ some drowsy 

biimmle* [ble/ 

Wha can do nought but fyke and fum- 

'Twad been nae plea; 
But lie v/as gleg' as ony wumble," 

That's owre the sea! 

Aiild cantie Kyle may weepers wear. 
And stain them wi' the saut, saut tear; 
'Twill make her poor auld heart, I 
fear. 

In flinders' flee; 
fie was her laureate mony a year 

That's owre the sea! 

He saw misfortune's cauld nor' -west 
Lang mustering up a bitter blast; 
A jillet^" brak his heart at last, 

111 may she be! 
So, took a berth afore the mast. 

And owre the sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock, '^ 
On scarce a bellyfu' o' drummock,''^ 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach 

Could ill agree; 
So, row't his hurdles'^ in a hammock. 

And owre the sea. 
He ne'er was gien to great misguiding, 
Yet coin his pouches ^^ wadna bide in; 
Wi' him it ne'er was under hiding: 

He dealt it free- 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in 

That's owre the sea. 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel, 
And hap him in a cozie biel;'^ 
Ye'U find him aye a dainty chiel,^* 

And fu' o' glee; 
He wadna wrang the very deil. 

That's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie! 
Your native soil was right ill-willie; 
But may ye flourish like a lily. 

Now bonnilie! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie ^'' 

Though owre the sea! 



A BARD'S EPITAPH. 

Of this beautiful epitaph, which Burns wrote 
for himself, Wordsworth says, — "Here is a 



^ Bungler. ° " Make a fuss." '' Sharp. 
'Wimble. » Shreds. 'OJilt. "Rod. 12 ^eal 
and water. " Wrapt his hams, i'' Pockets. 
" Warm Shelter, is Kindly fellow. " My 
last gill. 



sincere and solemn avowal — a public decla- 
ration from his own will — -a confession at 
once devout, poetical, and human — a history 
in the shape of a prophecy!" 

Is there a whim-inspired fool, [rule, 
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for 
Owre blate^ to seek, owre proud to 
snool? K 

Let him draw near; 
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,^ 

And drap a tear. 

Is there a bard of rustic song, 

Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, 

That weekly this area throng ? 

Oh, pass not by ! 
But, with a f rater-feeling strong. 

Here heave a sigh. 

Is there a man, whose judgment clear 
Can others teach the course to steer. 
Yet runs himself life's mad career 

Wild as the wave ? [tear. 
Here pause — and, through the starting 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn, and wise to know. 

And keenly felt the friendly glow, 

And softer flame. 
But thoughtless follies laid him low, 

And stain'd his name ! 

Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkling grubs this earthly hole. 

In low pursuit; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-control 

Is wisdom's root. 



A DEDICATION TO GAVIN HAM- 
ILTON, ESQ. 

Expect na, sir, in this narration, 
A fieechin',^ fieth'rin'^ dedication, 
To roose-^ you up, and ca you guid. 
And sprung o' great and noble bluid. 
Because ye're surnamed like his Grace^- 
Perhaps related to the race; 
Then when I'm tired, and sae are ye. 
Wi' mony a fulsome, sinfu' lie. 
Set up a face, how I stop short. 
For fear your modesty be hurt. 



1 Bashful. ^ Be obsequious. ^ Lamenta- 
tion. 
J Flattering:. ^ Fawning. = Praise. 



POEMS. 



91 



This may do — maun do, sir, wi' tliem 
wha [wamefu' :"* 

Maun please the great folks for a 
For me ! sae laigh' I needna bow, 
For, Lord be tbankit, I can plough; 
And when I downa'' yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit, I can beg; 
Sae I shall say, and tliat's nae flatterin', 
Its just sic poet, and sic patron. 

The poet, some guid angel help him, 
Or else, I fear, some ill ane skelp'' him, 
He may do weel for a' he's done yet. 
Bat only — he's no just begun yet. 

The patron, (sir, ye maun forgie me, 
I winna lie, come what will o' me,) 
On every hand it will allow'd be, 
He's just — nae better than he should be. 

I readily and freely grant. 
He downa see a poor man want; 
What's no his ain he winna talc it. 
What ance he says he winna break it; 
Ought he can lead he'll no refas't. 
Till aft his guidness is abused , 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang. 
Even that he doesna mind it lang: 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He doesna fail his part in either. 

But then nae thanks to him for a' that; 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that; 
It's naething but a milder feature 
Of our poor sinfu', corrupt nature; 
Ye'll get the best o' moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotasi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
That he's the poor man's fiiend in need. 
The gentleman in word and deed. 
It's no through terror of damnation; 
It's just a carnal inclination. 

Morality thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hast slain ! 
Vain is his hope whose stay and trust is 
In moral mercy, truth, and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to catch a plack;^ 
Abuse a brother to his back: 
Steal through a winnock^ f rae a whore. 
But point the rake that taks the door. 
Be to the poor like ony whunstane. 



< Bellyful. 6 Low. 8 Cannot. '' Beat, s a 
Coin— third part of a penny. * Window. 



And baud their noses to the grunstane. 
Ply every art o' legal thieving; 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile prayers, and half- 
mile graces, [faces; 
Wi' weel-spread looves,^" and lang wvy 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan. 
And damia a' parties but your ov/n; 
I'll warrant then, ye're nae deceiver — • 
A steady, sturdy, stanch believer. 

ye wha leave the springs o" Calvin, 
For gumlie^i dubs of your ain delvin'I 
Ye sons of heresy and error, 

Y e'll some day squeel in quaking terrorl 
When Vengeance draws the sword in 

wrath. 
And in the fire throws the sheath; 
When Ruiir, with his sweeping besom. 
Just frets till Heaven commission gies 

him; [moans. 

While o'er the harp pale Misery 
And strilies the ever-deepening tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon, sir, for this digression, 

1 maist forgat my Dedication; 

But when divinity comes 'cross me. 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapour, 
Bat I maturely thought it proper 
Wlien a' my works I did review. 
To dedicate them, sir, to you: 
Because (ye needna tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yoursel 
Then patronise them wi' your favour. 

And your petitioner shall ever 

I had amaist said, ever pray; 
But that's a word I needna say: 
For prayin' I hae little sicill o't; 
I'm baith dead-sweer,'^ and wretched 

ill o't; 
But I'se repeat each poor man's prayer 
That kens or hears about you, sir — 

" May ne'er Misfortune's growling 
bark [Clerk!* 

Howl through the dwelling o' the 
May ne'er his generous, honest heart 
For that same generous spirit smart I 

"Palms. 11 Muddy. 12 Unwilling-. 

*A term applied to Mr. Hamilton from his 
having- acted in that capacity to some of tha 
county courts. 



m 



BURNS' WORKS. 



May Kennedy's far lionour'd name 
Lang beat liis hymeneal tlame 
Till Hamiltons, at least a dizen, 
Are frae their nuptial labours risen : 
Five bonny lasses round their table, 
And seven braw fellows stout and ablo 
To serve their lung and country weel, 
By word, or pen, or pointed steel ! 
May health and peace, with mutual 

rays, 
Shine on the evening o' his days ; 
Till his wee curlie Jolm'sf ier-oe,'^ 
When ebbing life nae mair shall flow, 
The last, sad, mournful rites bestow 1" 

I will not wind a lang conclusion 
Wi' complimentary effusion : 
But whilst your wishes and endeavours 
Are blest wi' Fortune's smiles and 

favours, 
I am, dear sir, with zeal most fervent, 
Your much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which Powers above prevent !) 
That iron-hearted carl. Want, 
Attended in his grim advances. 
By sad mistakes and black mischances, 
Wliile hopes, and joys, and pleasures 

fly him. 
Make you as poor a dog as I am, 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the poor ? 
But by a poor man's hopes in Heaven ! 
While recollection's power is given, 
If, in the vale of humble life, 
The victim sad of Fortune's strife, 
I, through thu tender gushing tear. 
Should recognize my master dear, 
If friendless, low, we meet together, 
Then, sir, your hand — my friend and 
brother ! 



INVITATION TO A MEDICAL 

GENTLEMAN 

TO ATTEND A MASONIC ANNIVEKSARY 
MEETING. 

Friday first 's the day appointed. 
By our Right Worshipful anointed. 

To hold our grand procession , 
To get a blade of Johnny's morals, 



And taste a swatch ' o' Manson's bar- 
rels, 
I' the way of our profession. 
Our Master and the Brotherhood 

Wad a' be glad to see you ; 
For me I would be mair than proud 
To share the mercies wi' you. 
If death, then, wi' skaith, then, 

Some mortal heart is hechtin'* 
Inform him , and storm him, 
That Saturday ye '11 f edit him.* 

Robert Burns. 



12 Great-grandchild, 
t John Hamilton, Esq., a worthy scion of a 
noble stocki 



THE FAREWELL. 

" The following touching stanzas," says Cun- 
ningham, "were composed in the autumn of 
1786, when the prospects of the poet darken- 
ed, and he looked towards the West Indies 
as a place of refuge, and perhaps of hope. 
All who shared his affections are mentioned 
— his mother — his brother Gilbert— his ille- 
gitimate child, Elizabeth, — whom he con- 
signed to his brother's care, and for whose 
support he had appropriated tlie copyright 
of his poems, — and his friends Smith, Hamil- 
ton, and Aiken; but in nothing he ever 
wrote was his affection for Jean Armour 
more tenderly or more naturally displayed." 

" The valiant in himself, what can he suffer? 
Or what does he regard his single woes? 
But,when,alas! he multiplies himself, 
To dearer selves, to the loved tender fair. 
To those whose bliss, whose being hang upon 

him. 
To helplass children! then, oh, then! he feels 
The point of misery festering in his heart. 
And weakly weeps his fortune like a coward. 
Such, such am I! — undone!" 

— Tho.mson's Ediuard and Elecnora. 

FarewelTj, old Scotia's bleak do- 
mains, 
Far dearer than the torrid plains 

Where rich ananas blow ! 
Farewell, a mother's blessing dear ! 
A brother's sigh ! a sister's tear ! 
My Jean's heart-rending throe ! 
Farewell, my Bess ! though thou 'rt 
bereft 
Of my parental care ; 
A faithful brother I have left. 
My part in him thou 'It share ! 
Adieu too, to you too, 

M_v Smith, my bosom frien' ; 
"Wlien kindly you mind me, 

Oh, then befriend my Jean ! 



J Sample * Threatening. ^ Fight. 



Wliat bursting anguish tears my 

heart ! 
From thee, my Jeanie, must I part I 
Thou, weeping, answerest, " JSfo !" 
Alas ! misfortune stares my face. 
And points to ruin and disgrace, 

I, for thy sake must go ! 
Thee, Hamilton and Aiken dear, 

A grateful, warm, adieu ! 
I, with a much-indebted tear. 
Shall still remember yovL ! 
All hail, then, the gale then, 

Wafts me from thee, dear shore! 
It rustles and whistles — 
I'll never see thee more I 



LINES WRITTEN ON A BANK- 
NOTE. 
Wae worth thy power, thou cursed 

leaf! 
Fell source o' a' my woe and grief ! 
For lack o' thee I've lost my lass ! 
For lack o' thee I scrimp my glass, 
I see the children of affliction 
Unaided, through thy cursed restric- 
tion. 
I've seen the oppressor's cruel smile. 
Amid his hapless victim's spoil. 
And, for thy potence vainly wish'd 
To crush the villain in the dust. 
For lack o' thee, I leave this much- 
loved shore, 
Never, perhaps, to greet auld Scotland 
more. 

R. B.— Kyle. 



VERSES TO AN OLD SWEET- 
HEART AFTER HER MARRIAGE. 

WRITTBN ON THE BLANK LEAF OP A 

COPY OF HIS POEMS PRESENTED 

TO THE LADY. 

Once fondly loved, and still remem- 
bered dear, [vows! 
Sweet early object of my youthful 
Accept this mark of frieudsiiip, warm 
sincere, — [allows. 
Friendship 1 'tis all cold duty now 

And when you read the simple, artless 

rhymes, [more, — 

One friendly sigh for him — he asks no 

Who distant burns in flaming torrid 

climes, [roar. 

Or haply Mes beneath th' Atlantic's 



VERSES WRITTEN UNDER 

VIOLENT GRIEF. 

The following lines, which first appeared in 
the Suti newspaper, April 1823, appear id 
have been oujjinaliy wruten on a leaf of a 
copy 01 liiii poems pieseuied to a friend:^ 

Accept the gift a friend sincere 
Wad on thy worth be pressin'; 
Remembrance oft may start a tear. 
But oh I that tenderness forbear. 
Though 'twad my sorrows lessen. 

My morning raise sae clear and fair, 

I thought sair storms wad never 
Bedew the scene; but grief and care 
In wildest fury liae made bare 
My peace, my hope, for ever I 

You think I'm glad; oh, I pay weel 

For a' tlie joy I borrow. 
In solitude — then, then I feel 
I canna to myself conceal 

My deeply-ranklin' sorrow. 

Farewell ! within thy bosom free 

A sigh may whiles awaken ; 
A tear may wet thy laughin' ee. 
For Scotia's son — ance gay like thee 
Now hopeless, comfortless, foisaken! 



THE CALF. 

to THE REV. MR. JAMES STEVEN. 
The Rev. James Steven was afterwards one 
of the Scottish clergy in London, and ulti^ 
mately minister of Kilwinning in Ayrshire, 
It appears that the poet.while proceeding to 
church at Mauchline, one day, called on his 
friend Mr. Gavin Hamilton, who, being un- 
well, could not accompany him, but desired 
him, as parents were wont to do with chil- 
dren, to bring home a note of the text. 
Burns called on his return, and sitting down 
for a minute at Mr. Hamilton's business ta- 
ble, wrote the following lines as an answer 
to his request. It is also said that the poet 
had a wager with his friend Hamilton, that 
he would produce a poem within a certain 
time, and that he gained it by producing 
"The Calf." 

On his text, Malachi iv. 2 — "And they shall 
go forth, and grow up like calves of the stall." 

Right, sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 
Thoitgh heretics may laugh ; 

For instance; there's yoursel just now, 
God knows, an unco calf 1 



94 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Aiid sliould some patron be so kind 

As bless jou wi' a kirk, 
I doubt na, sir, but then we'll find 

Ye're still as great a stirk. ' 

iBut if tlie lover's raptured hour 

Sha.ll ever be your lot. 
Forbid it, every heavenly power. 

You e'er should be a stot- ! 

Though, when some kind connubial 
dear 

Your but-and-ben° adorns, 
The lilie has been that you may wear 

A noble head of horns. 

And in your lug, most reverend James, 

To hear you roar and rowte,'* 
Few men o' sense will doubt your 

claims 
To ranli amang the no^vte.^ 

And when ye're number'd wi' the dead. 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' j ustice they may mark your head, 

" Here lies a famous bullock !" 



WILLIE CHALMERS. 

Mr. W. Chalmers, a gentleman in Ayrshire, 
a particular friend of mine, asked me to 
write a poetic epistle to a young lady, his 
dulcinea. I had seen her, but was scarcely 
acquamted with her, and wrote as follows : 
— R. B. 

Madam: 
Wi' braw new branks,' in mickle pride. 

And elce'^ a braw new brechan,^ 
My Pegasus I'm got astride. 

And up Parnassus pechin;* [crush, 
Whiles owre a bush, wi' downward 

The doited beastie^ stamn:iers; 
Then up he gets, and off he sets. 

For sake o' Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na, lass, that weel-kenn'd name 

May cost a pair o' blushes; 
I am nae stranger to your fame. 

Nor his warm-urged wishes. 
Your bonny fas'e, sae mild and sweet. 
His honest heart enamours. 
And faith ye'll no be lost a whit. 

Though waired" on Willie Chalmers: 

1 A one-year-old-bullock. ^ Qx. ^ Kitchen 
and parlour. * Bellow. ^ Cattle. 

1 Bridle. « Also. s Collar. * Panting. 
* Stupid animal. « Spent. 



Auld Truth hersel might swear ye're 
fair. 

And Honour safely back her, 
And Modesty assume your air. 

And ne'er a ane mistak' her: 
And sic twa love-inspiring een 

Might fire even holy palmers; 
Nae wonder then they've fatal been 

To honest Willie Chalmers. 

I doubt na Fortune may you shore'' [tie, 

Some mim-mou'd^ pouther'd'* pries- 
Fu' lifted up wi' Hebrew lore. 

And band upon his breastie: 
But oh ! Vv'hat signifies to you 

His lexicons and grammars, 
The feeling heart's the royal blue, 

And that's wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Some gapin', glowrin'" country laird 

May warsale'i for your favour; 
May claw his lug'^ and stralk^^ his 
beard, 

And lioast'* up some palaver, 
My bonny maid, before ye wed 

Sic clumsy- witted hammers, '^ 
Seek Heaven for help, and barefit 
skelp'^ 

Awa' wi' Willie Chalmers. 

Forgive the bard! my fond regard 

For ane that shares my bosom 
Inspires my muse to gie 'm his dues, 

For deil a hair I roose''' him. 
May powers aboon unite you soon. 

And fructify your amours, — 
And every year come in mair dear 

To you and Willie Chalmers. 



TAM SAMSON'S ELEGY.* 

" No poet," says Cunningham, "ever embla- 
zoned fact with fiction more happily than 
Burns : the hero of this poem was a respect- 
able old nursery-seedsman in Kilma^-nock 
greatly addicted to sporting, and one of the 
poet's earliest friends, who loved curling en 
the ice in winter, and shooting on the 
moors in the season. When no longer able 
to march over hill and hag m quest of 
' Paitricks, teals, moor-pouts, and plivers,' 



■^ Promise. ^ Prim. * Powdered, i" Staring, 
n Strive. i^ Eg,., i3 stroke. i' Cougn. 
IS Blockheads. i^Run. "Flatter. 

* When this worthy old sportsman went 
out last muirfowl season, he supposed it was 
to be. in Ossian's phrase, " the last of his 
fields; ' and expressed an ardent wish to die 
and be buried in the muirs. On this hint the 
author composed his elegy and epitaph. — B. 



POEMS. 



9» 



he loved to lie on the lang settle, and listen 
to the dccui of others on field and flood; 
and when a good tale was told, he would 
crj', ' Hech, man! three at a shot; that was 
famous!' Some one havmg; informed Tam, 
in his old age, that Burns had written a poem 
— ' a gay queer ane ' — concerning him, he 
sent for the bard, and, in something like 
wrath, requested to hear it: he smiled grim- 
ly at the relation of his exploits, and then 
cried out, 'I'm no dead yet, Robin — I'm 
worth ten dead f8wk: wherefore should ye 
say that I am dead?' Bums took the hint, 
retired to the window for a minute or so, 
and coming back, recited the ' per Contra,' 

' Go, Fame, and canter like a filly,' 

with v;hich Tam was so delighted that he 
rose unconsciously, rubbed his hands, and 
exclaimed, ' That'l do — ha! ha! — that'l do!' 
He survived the poet, and the epitaph is in- 
scribed on his gravestone in the churchyard 
of Kilmarnock." 

" An honest man's the noblest work of God." 

— Pope. 

Has auld Kilmarnock seen the deil? 
Or great Mackinlayf tlirawn^ liis lieel? 
Or Robinson^ again grown weel. 

To preach and read? 
" Na, waur than a' !" cries ilka chiel, 

" Tam Samson's dead!" 

Kilmarnock lang mny grunt and grane, 

And sigh, and sob, and greet'^ her 

lane, [wean 

And cleed^ her bairns, man, wife, and 

In mourning weed ; 
To Death, she's dearly paid the kane"* — 

Tam Samson's dead! 

The brethren o' the mystic level 
May hing their head in waefu' bevel, 
While by their nose the tears will re- 
vel, 

Like ony bead; 
Death's gien the lodge an unco deveP — 

Tam Samson's dead! 

When Winter muffles up his cloak. 
And binds the mire up like a rock; 



1 Twisted. 2 Cry. s Clothe. " Rent paid 
in kind. = Blow. 

t A certain preacher, a great favourite with 
the million. Vide " The Ordinati6n," stanza 
II.—B. 

X Another preacher, an equal favourite with 
the few, who was at that time ailing. For 
him, see also "The Ordination," stanza IX.— 
B. 



When to the lochs the curlers flock. 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha will they station at the cock? — 

Tam Samson's dead! 

He was the king o' a' the core. 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore; 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar 

In time o' need; [score,— 
But now he lags on Death's hog- 

Tam Samson's deail! 

Now safe the stately salmon sail, 
And trouts be-dropp'd wi' crimson ha.il, 
And eels weel kenn'd for souple tail, 

And geds^ for greed. 
Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail 

Tam Samson's deadl 

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks'' a'; 

Ye cootie** moorcocks, crousely^ craw; 

Ye maukins,^" cock your ft^d fu' bi-aw, 

Withouten diead ; 
Your mortal fae is now awa,' — 

Tam Samson's dead] 

That v/aefu' morn be ever m^ourn'd 
Saw him in shootin' graith^' adorn' 1 
While pointers round impatient burii'd, 

Frae couples freed; 
But, och! he gaed and ne'er return'dl 

Tam Samson's dead! 

In vain auld age his body batters; 
In vain the gout his ankles fetters; 
In vain the burns cam' down like wa- 
ters, 

An acre braid! 
Now every auld wife, greetin' clatters, 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Owre mony a weary hag'^ he limpit. 
And aye the tither shot he thumpit, '^ 
Till coward Death behind him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide;'* 
Now he proclaims, wi' tout'* o' trumpet, 

Tam Samson's deadl 

When at his heart he felt the dagger. 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger. 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 

Wi' weel-aim'd heed; 
" Lord, five!" he cried, and owre did 
stagger — 

Tam Samson's dead! 



^ Pikes. 7 Whirring partridges ^ Feather- 
legged. 9 Gleefully. '"Hares, i' Dress. 
»2 Moss, " Fired. " Fend, is Sound. 



% 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a father: 
Yon aald gray staiie, amang the hea- 
ther, 

Marks out his head, 
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhjoning 
blether, 

Tarn Samson's dead! 
There low he lies, in lasting rest; 
Perhaps upon his mouldering breast 
Some spitfu' moorfowl bigs her nest, 

To hatch and breed; 
Alas ! nae mair he'll them molest ! 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

When august winds the heather wave. 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
Three volleys let his memory crave 

0' pouther and lead. 
Till Echo answer fi*ae her cave — 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Heaven rest his saul, whar'er he be I 
Is the wish o' mony mae than me; 
He had twa fauts, or maybe three. 

Yet what remead ? 
Ae social honest man want we — 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

EPITAPH. 
Tam Samson's weel-worn clay here lies 

Ye canting zealots, spare him ! 
If honest worth in heaven rise, 

Ye'll mend or ye win near him. 

PER CONTRA. 

Go, Fame, and canter like a filly, 
Through a' the streets and neuks o' 

Killie,§ 
Tell every social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin'. 
For yet, unscaithed'^ by Death's gleg 
gullie," 

Tam Samson's leevin' ! 



A PRAYER, 

LEFT BY THE AUTHOR AT A REVER- 
END friend's HOUSE, IN THE 
ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 

O Thou dread Power, who reign'st 
above ! 

'"Unharmed. '' Sharp knife. 

§ Killie is a phrase the country-folks some- 
times use for the name of a certain town in 
the west [Kilmarnock. J— B, 



I know Thnu wilt me hear. 
When for this scene of peace and love 
I make my prayer sincere. 

The hoary sire — the mortal stroke. 
Long, long, be pleased to spare I 

To bless his filial little flock, 
And sliow what good men are. 

She, who her lovely offspring eyes 
With tender hopes and fears. 

Oh, bless her with a mother's joys. 
But spare a mother's tears ! 

Their hope — their stay — their darling 
youth. 
In manhood's dawning- blush — 
Bless him. Thou God of love and 
truth. 
Up to a parent's wish ! 

The beauteous seraph sister -band, 
With earnest tears I pray, [hand — 

Thou know'st the snares on every 
Guide Thou their steps alway ! 

When soon or late they reach that 
coast. 

O'er life's rough ocean driven. 
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost, 

A family in heaven 1 



THE BRIGS OF AYR. 

INSCRIBED TO JOHN BALLANTYNE, 
ESQ., AYR. 

In the autumn of 1786, a new bridge was be- 
gun to be erected over the river at Ayr, in 
order to supersede an old structure which 
had long been found unsuitable, and was 
then becoming dangerous ; and while the 
work was being proceeded with, under the 
chief magistracy of Mr. Ballantyne, the 
poet's generous patron, he seized the oppor- 
tunity to display his gratitude by inscribing 
the poem to him. The idea of the poem ap- 
pears to have been taken from Fergusson's 
Dialogue between the Plainstanes and the 
Causeway ;" the treatment of the subject is, 
however, immeasurably superior to the old- 
er piece, and peculiarly Bums' own. 

The simple bard, rough at the rustic 
plough, [bough ; 

Learning his tuneful trade from every 
The chanting linnet, or the mellow 
thrush, [green-thorn btish ; 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the 
The soaring lark, the perching red- 
breast shrill, 



POEMS. 



97 



Or deep-toned plovers, gray, wild- 
whistling o'er tlie hill ; [shed, 
Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly 
To hardy independence bravely bred. 
By early poverty to hardship steel'd, 
And train'd to arms in stern Misfor- 
tune's field — [crimes. 
Shall he be guilty of their hireling 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of 

rhymes ? 
Or labour hard the panegyric close. 
With all the venal soul of dedicating 
prose ? [rudely sings, 

No ! though his artless strains he 
And throws his hand uncouthly o'er 
the strings, [bard. 

He glows with all the spirit of the 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear 
reward ! [he trace. 

Still, if some patron's generous care 
Skill'd in the secret, to bestow with 
grace ; [ble name, 

When Ballantyne befriends his hum- 
And hands the rustic stranger up to 
fame, [bosom swells, 

With heart-felt throes his grateful 
The god- like bliss, to give, alone ex- 
cels. 

'Twas when the stacks get on their 

winter-hap,^ [won crap ; 

And thack ^ and rape secure the toil- 

Potato-bings ^ are snugged up f rae 

skaith'' [breath ; 

O' coming Winter's biting, frosty 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer 

toils, [cious spoils 

[Jnnumber'd buds and flowers' deli- 
Seal'd up with frugal care in massive 

waxen piles, [the weak. 

Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er 
The death o' devils, smoor'd' wi' brim- 
stone reek ; [every side. 
The thundering guns are heard on 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter 

wide • [Nature's tie. 

The ftather'd field-mates, bound by 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage 

lie [bleeds, 

(What wann, piietic heart, but inly 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless 

deeds !) 



'Covering. = Thatch. » Heaps. ■* Harm. 
' Smothered, 



Nae mair the flower in field or meadow 
springs, [rings, 

Nae mair the grove with airy concert 
Except, perhaps, the robin's whistling 
glee, [tree: 

Proud o' the height o' some bit half -lang 
The hoary morns precede the sunny 
days, [noontide blaze, 

Mild, calm, serene, wide spreads the 
While thicK the gossamer waves wan- 
ton in the rays. 

'Twas in that season, when a simple 

bard, [ward. 

Unknown and poor, simplicity's re- 

Ae night, within the ancient brugh of 

Ayr, [care. 

By whim inspired, or haply prest wi' 
He left his bed and took his wayward 

route, [left about: 

And down by Simpson's* wheel'd the 
(Whether impell'd by all-directing 

Fate, 
To witness what I after shall narrate; 
Or penitential pangs for former sins. 
Led him to rove by quondam Merran 

Dins; 
Or whether, rapt in meditation high, 
He wander'd out, he knew not where 

nor why) [ber'd two, 

The drowsy Dungeon clockf had num- 
And Wallace Towert had sworn the 

fact was true: [ing roar. 

The tide-swoln Firth, wi' sullen sound- 
Through the still night dash'd hoarse 

along the shore. [ee: 

All else was hush'd as Nature's closed 
The silent moon shone high o'er tower 

and tree: [beam. 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver 
Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glitter- 
ing stream. 

Wl\en, lo! on either hand the listening 
bard, [heard ; 

The clanging sugh of whistling wings is 

Two dusky forms dart thraugh the 
midnight air [ing hare; 

Swift as the gosS drives on the wheel- 



* A noted tavern at the Auld Brig end. — B. 

t A clock in a steeple connected with the 
old iail of Ayr. 

t The clock in the Wallace Tower— an 
anomalous piece of antique masonry, sur- 
mounted by a spire, which formerly stood ia 
the High street of Ayr. 

§ The goshawk, or falcon. — B. 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Ane on the Auld Brig liis airy sliape 

uprears, 
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers: 
Our warlock rhymer instantly descried 
The sprites that ovvre the Brigs of Ayr 
preside. U^ke, 

(That bards are second-sighted is nae 
And ken the lingo of the spiritual folk; 
Fays, spunkies, kelpies, a', they can 
explain them, rken<5 them.) 

And even the very deils they brawly 
Auld Brig appear'd o' ancient Pictish 

race. 
The very wrinkles Gothic in his face* 
He seem'd as he wi' Time had wars- 
tied lang, [bang^ 
Yet, teughly doure,' he bade an unco 
Nev/ Brig was buskit in a braw new 

coat, 
That he at Lon'on frae ane Adams got; 
In's hand five taper staves as smooth's 

a bead, 
Wi' virls and whirlygigums at the head. 
The Goth was stalking round with anx- 
ious search, [arch; — 
Spying the time-worn flaws in every 
It chanced his new-come neibor took 
his ee, [he ! 
And e'en a vex'd and angry heart had 
Wi' thieveless^ sneer to see his modish 
mien, [e'en: — 
He, down the Avater, gies him this guid 

AULD BRIG. 

I doubt na frien', ye'll think ye're nae 
sheep-shank,'" [to bank ! 

Ance ye were streekif owre frae bank 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me — 
Though, faith, that date I doubt ye'll 
never see — [a boddle,''^ 

There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad 
Some fewer whigmaleeries in your nod- 
dle. 

NEW BKia. 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little 

mense,'^ [sense; 

Just much about it, wi' your scanty 

Will your poor narrow footpath of a 

street — [when they meet — 

Where twa wheelbarrows tremble 



8 Well know. '' Toughly obdurate. * He 
endured a mighty blow. * Spited, i" No 
worthless thing, i' Stretched. '^ Bet a 
doit. '3 Civility. 



Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane and 
lime, [time 1 

Compare wi' bonny brigs o' modern 
There's men o' taste would tak the 
Ducat Stream, II [and swim, 

Though they should cast the very sark 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' 

the view 
O' sic an ugly Gothic hulk as you. 

ATTLD BKIG. 

Conceited gowk !'■* puii'd up vn' 
windy pride! [and tide; 

This mony a year I've stood the flood 
And though wi' crazy eild'^ I'm sair 
forfairn,'^ [cairn I 

I'll be a brig when ye're a shapeless 
As yet ye little ken about the matter. 
But twa-three winters will inform ye 
better. [rains, 

Wlien heavy, dark, continued, a'-day 
Wi' deepening deluge, o'erflow the 
plains, [brawling Coil, 

When from the hills where springs the 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil. 
Or where the Greenock winds his moor- 
land course, [source. 
Or haunted Garpal"T[ draws his feeble 
Aroused by blustering winds and spot- 
ting thowes, [rowes; 
In mony a torrent down his snaw-broo 
While crashing ice, borne on the roar- 
ing spate," [the gate;'* 
Sweeps dams, and mills, and brigs a' to 
And from Glenbuck,** down to the 
Ratton-key,ff [ling sea — 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd tumb- 
Then down ye'll hurl, deil nor ye never 
rise ! [pouring skies. 
And dash tlie gumlie jaups'"' up to the 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost, 
That Architectuie's noble art is lost 1 



"Fool. "Age. »' Enfeebled. "Flood. 
18 Way. 1' Muddy spray. 

II A noted ford, just atove the Auld Brig. — 
B. 

"^ The Banks of Garpai Water — one of the 
i ' places in the West of Scotland whei« 
t\..ySe fancy-scaring bein|.;;s known by the 
name of ghaists still continue pertinaciously 
to inhabit. — B. 

** The source of the river Ayr.— B. 

tt A small landing-olace above the large 
key.-B, 



POEMS. 



99 



NEW BKia. 

Fine Architecture, trowtli, I needs 

must saj o't, [the gate o't ! 

The Lord be thankit that we've tint'^*' 

Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices. 

Hanging with threatening jut, like 

precipices; [coves, 

O'erarching, mouldy, gloom-inspiring 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony 

groves; [ture drest, 

Windows and doors, in nameless sculp- 
With order, symmetry, or taste unblest; 
Forms like some bedlam statuary's 

dream, [whim; 

The crazed creations of misguided 
Forms might be worship'd on the ben- 
ded knee, [free. 
And still the second dread command be 
I'heir likeness is not found on earth, in 

air, or sea. [building taste 

]\Iansions that would disgrace the 
Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast; 
Fit only for a doited^' monkish race, 
Or frosty maids forsworn the dear 

embrace ; [notion 

Or cuifs" of later times wha held the 
That sullen gloom was sterling true 

devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid brugh denies 

protection ! [with resurrection ! 

And soon may they expire, unblest 

atHjD brig. 

O ye, my dear rem ember 'd ancient 
yealings,'^^ [ed feelnigs ! 

Were ye but here to share mj wound- 
Ye worthy proveses, and mony a bailie, 
Wha in the paths o' righteousness did 
toil aye ; [veeners. 

Ye dainty deacons, and ye douce con- 
To whom our moderns are but causey- 
cleaners ! [town ; 
Ye godly councils wha hae blest this 
Ye godly brethren o' the sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gae your hurdles to the 
smiters ; [godly writers ; 
And (v^rliat would now be strange) ye 
A' ye douce folk I've borne aboou the 
broo,'^-* [or do ! 
Were ye but here, what would ye say 
How would your spirits groan in deep 
vexation 



"0 Lost. " Stupid, sa Fools. 
»4 Water. 



83 Coevals, 



To 366 each melancholy alteration ; 
And, agonizing, curse the time and 
place [race 1 

When ye begat the base, degenerate 
Nae langer reverend men, their coun- 
try's glory, [braid story I 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain 
Nae langer thrifty citizens and douce. 
Meet owre a pint, or in the council- 
house ; [less gentry, 
But staumrel,'''^ corkey- headed, grace- 
The herryment and ruin of the coun- 
try ; [by barbers, 
Men three parts made by tailors and 
Wha waste your weel-hain'd gear on 
damn'd new brigs and harbours ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Now haud you there ! for faith ye Ve 
said enough, [through : 

And muckle mair than ye can mak to 
That 's aye a string auld doited gray- 
beards harp on, [on. 
A topic for their peevishness to carp 
As for your priesthood, I shall say but' 
little, [tie ; 
Corbies and clergy are a shot right kit- 
But, under favour o' your langer 
beard, [spared ; 
Abuse o' magistrates might weel ba 
To liken them to your auld - warld 

squad, 
I must needs say comparisons are odd. 
In Ayr, wag-wits nae mair can hae a 
handle [dal ; 

To mouth ' ' a citizen" a term o' scan- 
Nae mair the council waddles down 

the street. 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit ; 
No difference but bulkiest or tallest. 
With comfortable dullness in for bal- 
last ; [caution. 
Nor shoals nor currents need a pilot's 
For regularly slow, they only witness 
motion ; [liops and raisins. 
Men wha grew wise priggin' owie 
Or gather'd liberal views in bonds and 
seisins, [tramp. 
If haply Knowledge, on a random 
Had shored^® them wi' a glimmer of his 
lamp, [betray'd them. 
And would to Common Sense for once 



Half-witted. 



"s E;; posed. 



LmO. 



100 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to 
aid them. 



Wliat further clishmaclaver '^ might 

been said, [to shed; 

"WTiat bloody wars, if sprites had blood 

No man can tell ; but all before their 

sight, 
A fairy train appear'd in order bright ; 
Adown the glittering stream they f eat- 

ly danced ; 
Bright to the moon their various dress- 
es glanced ; [neat. 
They footed o'er the watery glass so 
The infant ice scarce bent beneath 
their feet ; [rung, 
While arts of minstrelsy among them 
And soul-ennobling bards heroic dit- 
ties sung. 
Oh, had M'Lachlan, if:]: thairm-^- inspir- 
ing sage, [engage, 
Been there to hear this heavenly band 
When through his dear strathspeys 

they bore with Highland rage; 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melt- 
ing airs. 
The lover's raptured joys or bleeding 
cares; [nobler fired, 

How would his Highland lug^^ been 
And even his matchless hand with 
finer touch inspired ! [appear'd. 

No guess could tell what instrument 
But all the soul of Music's self was 

heard; 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
W^hile simple melody pour'd moving 
on the heart. 

The Genius of the stream in front 
appears, 
A venerable chief advanced in years; 
His hoary head with water-lilies 

crown'd, [bound. 

His manly leg with garter-tanglo 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the 

ring, [with Spring; 

Sweet Female Beauty hand in hand 
Then, crown'd with flowery hay, came 

Rural Joy, [eye: 

And Summer, with his fervid beaming 



2' Palaver. 28 Cat-gut. 29 Ear. 
tt- A well-known performer of Scottish music 
on the violin.— B. 



All -cheering Plenty, with her flowing 

horn, [nodding com, 

Led yellow Autumn, wreathed with 

Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did 

hoary show: 
By Hospitahty with cloudless brow. 
Next follow'd Courage, with his mar- 
tial stride, [coverts hide; 
From where the Feal § § wild-woody 
Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 
A female form came from the towers 
of Stair; II [trode 
Learning and Worth in equal measures 
From smple Catrine, their long-loved 
abode :T[f [a hazel wreath. 
Last, white-robed Peace, crowned with 
To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 
The broken iron instruments of death; 
At sight of Avhom our sprites forgat 
their kindling wrath. 



LINES 

ON MEETING "WITH LORD DAER. 

In 1786, Professor Dugald Stewart, the well- 
known expounder of the Scottish system 
of metaphysics, resided in a villa at Catrine, 
on the 'Ayr, a few miles from the poet's 
farm; and having heard of his astonishing 
poetical productions, through Mr. Macken- 
zie, a talented and generous surgeon in 
Mauchline, he invited Burns to dine with 

. him, accompanied by his medical friend. 
The poet seems to have been somewhat 
alarmed at the idea of meeting so distm- 
guished a member of the literary world; 
and, to increase his embarrassment, it hap- 

Eened that Lord Daer, (son of the Earl of 
elkirk,) an amiable young nobleman, was 
on a visit to the professor at the time. The 
result, however, appears to have been rath- 
er agreeable than otherwise to the poet, 
who has recorded his feelings on the sub- 
ject in the following lines : — 

This wot ye all whom it concerns, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twenty third, 
A ne'er-to-be-forgotten day ! 
Sae far I sprachled' up the brae, 

I dinner'd wi' a lord. 



1 Clambered. 

§§ The poet here alludes to Captain Mont- 
gomery of Coilsfield— soger Hugh— afterwards 
twelfth Earl of Eglinton, whose seat of Coils- 
field is situated on the Feal, or Faile, a tribu- 
tary stream of the Ayr. 

nil A compliment to his early patroness, Mrs. 
Stewart of Stair. 

*f <f A well-merited tribute to Professor Du- 
gald Stewart. 



POEMS. 



101 



I've been at drucken writers' feasts, 
Kiiy, been bitcli fou 'mang godly 
priests ; 

(\Vi' rev'rence be it spoken !) 
I've even join'd the honour'd jorum 
Wlien mignty squiresliips o' the quo- 
rum. 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

But wi' a lord ! — stand out, my shin: 
A lord — a peer — an earl's son ! — 

Up higher yet, my bonnet ! 
And sic a lord ! — lang Scotch ells twa, 
Our peerage he o'erlooks them a', 

As I look o'er my sonnet. 

But, oh ! for Hogarth's magic povrer ! 
To show Sir Bardie's willyart glower, - 

And how he stared an stam- 
mer' d ! 
"\^^len goavan,^ as if led wi' branks,'* 
Aiid stumpin' on his ploughman shanks 

He in the parlour hammer'd. 

To meet good Stewart little pain is. 
Or Scotia's sacred Demosthenes; 

Thinlis I, they are but men ! 
But Burns, my lord — guid God ! I 

doited !^ 
My knees oa ane anitlier knoited,^ 

As f aultering I gaed ben P 

T sidling shelter'd in a nook, 
And at his lordship steal't a look, 

hike some portentous omen; 
Except good sense and social plec, 
And (what surprised me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the great, 
The gentle pride, the lordly state, 

The arrogant assuming; 
The fient a pride, nae pride had he. 
Nor sauce, nor state, that I could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 

Then from his lordship I shall learn 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weel's another; 
Kae honest, worthy man need care 
To meet wi' noble, youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brother. 



2 Bewildered stare. ^ Moving- 
Btupidly. * Bridle. ^ Became stupefied. 
• Knocked. ' Into the room. 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH. 

Writing to his friend, William Chalmers, tha 

?oet says : "I enclose you two poems, whici 
have carded and spun since I passed, 
Glenbuck. ' Fair Burnet ' is the heaveni/ 
Miss Burnet, daughter of Lord Monboddo, 
at whose house I have had the honour to be 
more than once. There has not been any- 
thing nearly like her in all the combinatioca 
of beauty, grace, and goodness the great 
Creator has formed, since Milton's Eve ca 
the first day of her existence !" 

Edina ! Scotia's darling seat! 

All hail thy palaces and towers. 
Where once loeneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sovereign povrers! 
From marking wildiy-scatter'd flowers, 

As on tlie banks of Ayr I stray'd. 
And smging, lone, the lingering hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 

Here wealth still swells the golden 
tide. 

As busy Trade his labour plies; 
There Architecture's noble pride 

Bids elegance and splendour rise; 
Here Justice, from her native skies. 

High wields her balance and her rod; 
There Learning, -with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 

Thy sons, Edina! social, kind. 

With open arms the stranger hail; 
Their views enlarged, their liberal 
mind. 

Above the narrow, rural vale; 
Attentive still to Sorrow's wail. 

Or modest Merit's silent claim; 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never envy blot their name ! 

Thy daughters bright thy wallas adorn,' 

Gay as the gilded summer sky. 
Sweet as the dewy mills- white thorn. 

Dear as the rapttired thrill of joy i 
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye. 

Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine; 
I see the Sire of Love on high, 

And own His work indeed divine. 

There, watching high the least alarms. 

Thy rough, rude fortress gleama 
afar: 
Like some bold veteran, gray in arms. 

And mark'd with many a seamy scar: 
The ponderous wall and massy bar 

Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock. 
Have oft withstood assailing war. 

And oft repell'd the invader's shock. 



102 



BURNS' WORKS. 



With awe-struck tliouglit, and pitying 
tears, 

I view that noble, stately dome, 
Where Scotia's kings of other years, 

Famed heroes ! had their royal home : 
Alas! how changed the times to come! 

Their royal name low in the dust ! 
Their hapless race wild -wandering 
roam! [just. 

Though rigid law cries out, 'Twas 

Wild beats my heart to trace your 
steps. 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Through hostile ranks and ruin'd gaps 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore; 
Even I who sing in rustic lore, 

Haply, my sires have left their shed. 
And faced grim Danger's loudest roar, 

Bold- following where your father's 
led! 

Edina! Scotia's darling seat! 

All hail thy palaces and towers. 
Where once beneath a monarch's feet 

Sat Legislation's sovereign powers! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flowers. 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the lingering hours, 

I shelter in thy honour'd shade. 



THE POET'S WELCOME TO HIS 

ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.* 

There can be no doubt that the feeling which 
prompted the composition of this and simi- 
lar poems was not that of the reckless liber- 
tine who was lost to all shame and was 
without regard for the good opinion of his 
fellows. Lockhart hits the truth when he 
says: — " 'To wave ' (m his own language) 
' the quantum of the sin,' he who, two years 
after\vards, wrote the ' Cotter's Saturday 
Night' had not, we may be sure, hardened 
his heart to the thought of bringing addi- 
tional sorrow and unexpected shame to the 



* The subject of these verses was the poet's 
illegitimate daughter whom, in " The Inven- 
tory," he styles his 

" Sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess." 

She grew up to womanhood, was married, 
and had a family. Her death is thus an- 
nounced in the Scots B/ag'azine^ December 8, 
1817:— "Died, Elizabeth 'Burns, wife of Mr. 
John Bishop, overseer at Polkemmet, near 
Whitburn, She v/as the daughter of the cel- 
ebrated Robert Burns, and the subject of 
Some of his most beautiful lines. 



fireside of a widowed mother. But his false 
pride recoiled from letting his jovial associ- 
ates guess how little he was able to drown 
the whispers of the ' still small voice;' and 
the fermenting bitterness ol a mind ill at ease 
within itself escaped, (as may be too often 
traced in the history of satirists,) in the 
shape of angry sarcasms against others, 
who, whatever their private errors might be, 
had at least done him no wrong. It is im- 
possible not to smile at one item of consola- 
tion which Burns proposes to himself on 
this occasion : — 

The mairthey talk, I'm kenn'd the better; 
E'en let them clash ! 
This is indeed a singular manifestation of 
' the last infirmity of noble minds.' " 

Thou's welcome, wean ! mishanter' 

fa' me. 
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy. 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me. 

My sweet wee lady. 
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta or daddy. 

Wee image of my bonny Betty, 
I fatherly will kiss and daut'^ thee, 
As dear and near my heart I set thee 

Wi' as guid will, 
As a' the priests had seen me get thee 

That's out o' hell. 

What though they ca' me fornicator, 
And tease my name in kintra clatter:^ 
The mair they talk I'm kenn'd the 
better, 

E'en let them clash !■• 
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless* 
matter 

To gie ane fash.^ 

Sweet fruit o' mony a merry dint, 

My funny toil is now a' tint. 

Sin' thou came to the warld asklent,'' 

Which fools may scofEat; 
In my last plack thy part's be in't — 

The better half o't. 

And if thou be what I wad liae thee, 
And tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
A lovin' father I'll be to thee, 

If thou be spared, [thee; 
Through a' thy childish years I'll eo 

And think 't weel wared. 

Guid grant that thou may aye inlierit 
Thy mitlier's person, grace, and merit. 



1 Misfortune. ^ Fondle. ^ Country talk. 
■• Gossip. ^ Very small, * Trouble. ' Irreg- 
ularly. 



POEMa 



103> 



And tliy poor worthless daddy's spirit, 
Without his failin's, 

'Twill please me mair to hear and see't. 
Than stockit mailins.^ 



TO MRS C , 

on keceivina a wokk of hannah 

more's. 
Thou flattering mark of friendship 

kind, 
Still may thy pages call to mind 

The dear, the beauteous donor ! 
Though sweetly female every part, 
Yet such a head, and more the heart, 

Does both the sexes honour. 
She shovv'd her taste refined and just 

When she selected thee. 
Yet deviating, own 1 must. 
For so approving me. 

But kind still, I mind still 

The giver in the gift, 
I'll bless her, and wiss her 
A friend above the lift. * 



TO MISS LOGAN. 

•WITH EEATTIE'S poems AS A NEW- 
YEAR'S gift, JAN. 1, 1787. 

Miss Susan Logan was the sister of the Major 
Logan, to whom Burns wrote a rhymed 
epistle. He was indebted to both for many 
pleasant hours when he was suffering from 
despondency. 

Again the silent wheels of time 
Their annual round have driven, 

And you, though scarce in maiden 
prime. 
Are so much nearer heaven. 

No gifts have I from Indian coasts 

The infant year to hail , 
I send you more than India boasts, 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 
Is charged, perhaps, too true. 

But may, dear maid, each lover prove 
An Edwin still to y ou I 



VERSES 

INTENDED TO BE WRITTEN BELOW A 
NOBLE earl's PICTURE. 

"The enclosed stanzas," said the poet, in a 
letter to his patron, the Earl of Glencairn, 



* Stocked farms. 



'Sky. 



" I intended to write below a picture or 
profile of your lordship, could I have been 
so happy as to procure one with anything of 
aHkeness.'' 

Whose is that noble, dauntless brow ? 

And whose that eye of fire ? [mien 
And whose that generous princely 

Even rooted foes admire ? 

Stranger, to justly show that brow, 
And mark that eye of fire, [tints 

Would take His hand, whose vernal 
His other works admire. 

Bright as a cloudless summer sun. 
With stately port he moves; 

His guardian seraph eyes with awe 
The noble ward he loves. 

Among the illustrious f^cottish sons 
That chief thou mayst discern: 

Mark Scotia's fond returning eye- 
It dwells upon Glencairn. 



TO A HAGGIS. 

The haggis is a dainty peculiar to Scotland, 
though it is supposed to be an adaptation 
of a French dish. It is composed of minced 
offal of mutton, mi,xed with meal and suet, 
to which are added various condiments by 
way of seasoning, and the whole is tied up 
tightly in a sheep's stomach, and boiled 
therein. Although the mgredients of this 
dish are not over inviting, the poet does not 
far exceed poeticl license in singing its 
praises. We would recommend the reader 
to turn to page 173 of vol. i. of Wilson's 
"Noctes Ambrosianse,'' where he will find 
a graphic and humorous description of a 
monster haggis, and what resulted from 
cutting it up. The Edinbtirgh Literary 
Journal. 1829 . made the following state- 
ment . — About si.xteen years ago there re- 
sided at Mauchline Mr Robert Morrison, 
cabinetmaker. He was a great crony of 
Burns', and it was in Mr Momson's house 
that the poet usually spent the ' mids o' the 
day ' on Sunday. It was in this house that 
he wrote his celebrated ' Address to a Hag- 
gis, after partaking liberally of that dish as 
prepared by Mrs. Morrison. ' 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie ' facCj 
Great chieftain o' the puddin' race ! 
Aboon them a' ye tali your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairm .' 
Weel are ye worthy of a grace 

As lang 's my arm. 



> Jolly, "^ Small intestines. 



104 



BURNS' WORKS. 



The groaning trencher there ye fill, 
Your hurdles like a distant hill. 
Your pin* wad help to mend a mill 

In time of need. 
While through your pores the dews 
distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic labour dight,' 
And cut you up wi' ready slight. 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright 

Like ony ditch ; 
And then, oh, what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reekinV rich ! 

Then horn for horn they stretch and 

strive, 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive. 
Till all their weel-swall'd kytes belyve f 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auid guidman, maist like to rive,^ 
Bethankit hums. 

Is there that owre his French ragout. 
Or olio that wad staw a sow,'' 
Or fricassee wad make her spew' 

Wi' perfect scunner,^ 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' 
view 

On sic a dinner ? 

Poor devil ! see him owre his trash. 
As feckless^ as a wither'd rash. 
His spindle-shanlc a guid whip-lash. 

His nieve'" anit ; 
Through bloody flood or field to dash, 

Oh, how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, haggis-fed, 

The trembling earth resounds his 

tread, 
Clap m his walie nieve a blade. 

He '11 mak it whissle ; 
And legs, and arms, and headii will 
sned,'^ 

Like taps o' thrissle. 

Ye powers wha mak mankind your 

care, 
And dish them out their bill o' fare. 



^ Wipe. * Smoking « Burst. « Pig 
' Vomit. 8 Loathmg. ^ Pithless, i" Fist. 
>» Cut off. 

* A wooden skewer with which it is lifted 
out and into the vessel in which it is cooked. 

t Till all their well-swollen bellies by-and- 
by. 



Auld Scotland wants nae skinking 
ware'''^ 

That jaups'^ in luggies ,'■* 
But if ye wish her gratefu' prayer, 

Gie her a haggis ! 



PROLOGUE. 

SPOKEN BY MR. WOODS* ON HIS BENE- 
FIT NIGHT, MONDAY, APRIL 16, 1787. 

When by a generous public's kind ac- 
claim, «[fame, 
That dearest meed is granted — honest 
When here your favour is the .actor's 
lot, [got ; 
Nor even the man in private life for- 
Wiiat breast so dead to heavenly vir- 
tue's glow, [ful throe ? 
But heaves impassion'd with the grate- 
Poor is the task to please a barbar- 
ous throng, [ern's song ; 
It needsi no Siddons' powers in South- 
But here an ancient nation famed afar. 
For genius, learning high, as great in 

war — 
Hail, Caledonia ! name for ever dear ! 
Before whose sons I'm honour'd to ap- 
pear ! [art — 
Where every science — every nobler 
That can inform the mind, or mend 
the heart, [found. 
Is known : as grateful nations oft have 
Far as the rude barbarian marks the 

bound. 
Philosophy, no idle pedant dream. 
Here holds her search by heaven-taught 
Reason's beam ; [force. 

Here History paints with elegance and 
The tide of Empire's fluctuating course; 
Here Douglas fonns wild Shakespeare 

into plan. 

And Harleyf rouses all the god in man, 

When well-form'd taste and sparkling 

wit unite [bright. 

With manly lore, or female beauty 



1- Thin stuff. "Splashes. "In wooden 
dishes. 

* Mr. Woods had been the friend of Fergus- 
son. He was long a favourite actor in Edin- 
burgh, and was himself a man of some poetical 
talent. 

t Henry MackeQzie, author of " The Man ol 
Feeling.'* 



POEMS. 



105 



(Beauty, wliere faultless symmetry and 

grace, 
Can only charm us in the second place). 
Witness my heart, how oft with pant- 
ing fear, [here : 
As on this night, I've met these judges 
But still the hope Experience taught 
to live, [gi v'e. 
Equal to judge — you 're candid to for- 
lS"o hundred-headed Riot here we meet. 
With decency and law beneath his 
feet : [name ; 
Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's 
Like Caledonians, you applaud or 
blame. 

Thou dread Power ! whose empire- 
giving hand [lionour'd land ! 
Has oft been stretch'd to shield the 
Strong may she glow with all her an- 
cient fire ! 
May every son be worthy of his sire ! 
Firm may she rise with generous dis- 
dain [chain ! 
At Tyranny's, or direr Pleasure's, 
Still self - dependent in lier native 
shore, [loudest roar, 
Bold may she brave grirn Danger's 
Till Fate the curtain drops on worlds 
to be no more. 



NATURE'S LAW. 

HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO GAVIN HAM- 
ILTON, ESQ. 

These verses were first published in Mr. Piclc- 
ering's edition of the poet's works, printed 
from the original MS. in the poet s hand- 
writing. They appear to have been written 
shortly after " Bonny Jean " had presented 
him with twins. 

" Great Nature spoke — observant man 
obey'd." — Pope. 

Let other heroes boast their scars, 

The marks of sturt and strife; 
And other poets sing of v.'ars. 

The plagues of human life- 
Shame fa' the fun, wi' sword and gun. 

To slap mankind like lumljer ! 
I sing his name and nobler fame, 

Wha multiplies our num.ber. 

Great Nature spoke, with air benign, 

"Go on, ye human race ! 
This lower world I you resign; 

Be fruitful and increase. 



The liquid fire of strong desire 
I've pour'd it in each bosom; 

Here, in this hand, does mankind stand, 
And there is beauty's blossom !" 

The hero of these artless strains, 

A lowly bard was he, 
^^lio sung his rhymes in Coila's plains. 

With mickle mirth and glee; 
Kind Nature's care had given his share 

Large of the flaming current ; 
And all devout, he never sought 

To stem the sacred torrent. 

He felt the powerful, high behest. 

Thrill, vital, through and through; 
And sought a correspondent breast 

To give obedience due; [flowers 

Propitious Powers screen'd the young 

From mildews of abortion: 
And lo ! the bard, a great reward, 

Has got a double portion ! 

Auld cantie Coil may count the day. 

As annual it returns, 
The third of Libra's equal sway, 

That gave another Burns, 
With future rhymes, and other times. 

To emulate his sire; 
To sing old Coil in nobler style, 

With more poetic fire. 

Ye powers of peace, and peaceful song, 

Look down with gracious eyes; 
And bless auld Coila, large and long. 

With multiplying joys; 
Lang may she stand to prop the land. 

The flower of ancient nations; 
And Burns' spring, her fame to sing. 

To endless generations ! 



THE HERMIT. 

WRITTEN ON A MAHBLE SIDEBOARD IN 
THE HERMITAGE BELONGING TO THE 
DUKE OP ATHOLE, IN THE WOOD OP 
ABERFELDT. 

Whoe'er thou art, these lines now 
reading, [receding. 

Think not, though from the world 
I joy my lonely days to lead in 

This desert drear; [ing, 
That fell remorse, a conscience bleed- 
Hath led me here. 



106 



BURNS' WORKS. 



No thought of guilt my bosom sours; 
Free-will'd I fled from courtly bowers; 
For well I saw in halls and towers 

That lust and pride, 
The arch - fiend's dearest, darkest 
powers, 

In state preside. 

I saw mankind with vice inc rusted; 
I saw that Honour's sword was rusted; 
That few for aught but folly lusted; 
That he was still deceived who trusted 

To love or friend; 
And hither came, with men disgusted, 

My life to end. 

In this lone cave, in garments lowly, 

Alike a foe to noisy folly, 

And brow-bent gloomy melanchol 

I wear away 
My life, and in my office holy 

Consume the day. 

Tl;is rock my shield, when storms are 

blowing, 
Tlie limpid streamlet yonder flowing 
Bupplying drink, the earth bestowing 

My simple food; 
Eut few enjoy the calm I know in 

This desert wood. 

Content and comfort bless me more in 
This grot than e'er I felt before in 
A palace — and with thoughts still soar- 
ing 

To God on high, 
Each night and morn, with voice im- 
ploring, 

This wish I sigh — 

" Let me, O Lord! from life retire, 
Unknown each guilty worldly fire. 
Remorse's throb, or loose desire; 

And when I die. 
Let me in this belief expire — 

To God I fly." 

Btranger, if full of youth and riot. 
And yet no grief has marr'd thy quiet. 
Thou haply throw'st a scornful eye at 

The hermit's prayer; 
But if thou hast good cause to sigh at 

Thy fault or care; 

If thou hast known false love's vexa- 
tion, 
Or hast been exiled from thy nation, 



Or guilt affrights thy contemplation. 
And makes thee pine, 

Oh! how must thou lament thy station. 
And envy mine! 



SKETCH OF A CHARACTER. 

" This f rae-ment," says Bums to Dugald 
Stewart, I have not shown to man hving 
till I now send it to you. It forms the pos- 
tulata, the axioms, the definition of a char- 
acter, which, if it appear at all, shall be 
placed in a variety of lights. This particular 
part I send you merely as a sample of my 
hand at portrait-sketching." 

A LITTLE, upright, pert, tart, tripping 
wight, [light: 

And still his precious self his dear de- 
Who loves his own smart shadow in 
the streets [meets: 

Better than e'er the fairest she he 
A man of fashion, too, he made his 
tour [I'amour/ 

Learn'd Vive la hagatelle, et Vive 
So travell'd monkies their grimace im- 
prove, [love, 
Polish their grin, nay, sigh for ladies' 
Much specious lore, but little under- 
stood: 
Veneering oft outshines the solid wood; 
His solid sense by inches you must tell, 
But mete his cunning by the old Scots 

ell; 
His meddling vanity, a busy fiend 
Still making work his selfish craft 
must mend. 



VERSES 

ON READING IN A NEWSPAPER THE 
DEATH OP JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ.. BRO- 
THER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTIC- 
ULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S, 

Sad thy tale, thou idle page. 

And rueful thy alarms 
Death tears the brother of her love 

From Isabella's arms. 

Sweetly deckt with pearly dew 
The morning rose may blow; 

But cold successive noontide blasts 
May lay its beauties low. 

Fair on Isabella's mom 
The sun propitious smiled; 

But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds 
Succeeding hopes beguiled. 



POEMS 



107 



Fate oft tears the bosom chords 

That nature finest strung: 
So Isabella's heart was form'd, 

And so that heart was wrung. 

Were it in the poet's power, 
Strong as he shares the grief 

That pierces Isabella's heart. 
To give that heart relief! 

Dread Omnipotence alone 
Can heal the wound he gave; 

Can point the brimful grief- worn eyes 
To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, 
And fear no withering blast; 

There Isabella's spotless worth 
Shall happy be at last. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF SIR 

JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. 

Sir James Hunter Blair, who died in 1787, was 
a partner in the eminent banking house of 
Sir William Forbes & Co., of Edinburgh. 

The lamp of day, with iU-presaglng 

glare, [ern wave; 

Dim, cloudy, sunlt beneath the west- 

The inconstant blast howl'd through 

the darkening air, [cave. 

And hollow whistled in the rocky 

Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and 

dell, [royal train;* 

Once the loved haunts of Scotia's 

Or mused where limpid streams, once 

hallow'd, well.f [fane.:]: 

Or mouldering ruins mark the sacred 

The increasing blast roar'd round the 

beetling rocks, [starry sky, 

The clouds swift- wing'd flew o'er the 

*The groaning trees untimely shed their 

locks, [startled eye. 

And shooting meteors caught the 

The paly moon rose in the livii east. 

And 'mong the cliffs disclosed a stately 

form, [breast. 

In weeds of woe, that frantic beat her 

And mix'd her wailings with the 

raving storm. 

* The King's Park, at Holyrood House. 
+ St. Anthony's We41. 
^ St. Anthony's Chapel, 



Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow, 

'Tvt'as Caledonia's trophied shield I 

view'd: [woe. 

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive 

Thi r_ „. ^^ ^i. her eye in tears 

imbued. 

Reversed that spear redoubtable in war. 

Reclined that banner, erst in fields 

unfurl'd, [afar. 

That like a deathful meteor gleam'd 

And braved the mighty monarchs of 

the world. 

"My patriot son fills an untimely 

grave!" [she cried; 

With accents wild and lifted arms 

" Low lies the hand that oft was 
stretch'd to save, [honest pride. 

Low lies the heart that swell'd with 

"A weeping country joins a widow's 

tear, [phan'scry; 

The helpless poor mix with the or- 

The drooping arts surround their pa 

tron's bier, [heartfelt sigh! 

And grateful science heaves the 

' ' I saw my sons resume their ancient 
fire: [blow: 

I saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly 
But ah ! how hope is born but to expire! 
Relentless Fate has laid their guard- 
ian low. 

' ' My patriot falls, but shall he lie un- 
sung, [worthless name? 
While empty greatness saves a 
No; every Muse shall join her tuneful 
tongue, [fame. 
And future ages hear his growing 

"And I will join a mother's tender 

cares, [virtues last; 

Through future times to make his 

That distant years may boast of other 

Blairs !" — [sleeping blast. 

She said, and vanish' d with the 



TO MISS FERRIER, 

ENCLOSING THE ELEGY ON SIR J. H. 
BLAIR. 

Nae heathen name shall I prefix 

Frae Pindus or Parnassus; 
An Id Reekie dings' them a' to sticks. 

For rhyme-inspiring lasses. 

» Beats. 



108 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Jove's tunefu' docliters tliree times 
three 

Made Komer deep their debtor; 
But, gien the body half an ee. 

Nine Ferriers wad done better! 

Last day my mind was in a bog, 
Down George's street I stoited;^ 

A creeping, cauld, prosaic fog 
My very senses doited.^ 

Do what I dought* to set her free, 

My saul lay in the mire; 
Ye turn'd a neulc" — I saw your ee— 

She took the wing like fire ! 

The mournfu' sang I here enclose. 

In gratitude I send you; 
And [wish and] pray iu rhyme sincere, 

A' guid things may attend vou 



LINES 



"WEITTEN WITH A PENCIL OVER THE 
CHIMNEY-PIECE IN THE P.UILOUR 
OF THE INN AT KENMOEE, TAY- 
MOUTH. 

Admiring Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet 

I trace; [steep, 

O'er many a winding dale and painful 
The abodes of covey'd grouse and timid 

sheep. 
My savage journey, curious, T pursue, 
Till famed Breadalbane opens to my 

view, — [divides, 

The meeting cliffs each deep-sunk glen 
The woods, wild scatter'd clothe their 

ample sides; ['mong the hills. 

The outstretching lake, embosom'd 
The eye with wonder and amazement 

fills [pride, 

The Tay, meandering sweet in infant 
The palace, rising on its verdant side; 
The laAvns, wood-fringed in Nature's 

native taste, [haste. 

The hillocks, dropt in Nature's careless 
The arches, striding o'er the new born 

stream ; [beam — 

The village, glittering in the noontide 

Poetic ardours in my bosom swell, 



" Tottered. 
6 Corner, 



3 Stupefied. 



4 Would. 



Lone wan -ring by the hermit's mossy 
cell: [woods! 

The sweeping theatre of hanging 
The incessant roar of headlong tum- 
bling floods. 

Here Poesy might Avake her Heaven- 
taught lyre, [tive fire; 
And look through Nature with crea- 
Here, to the Avrongs of Fate half- recon- 
ciled, [der wild; 
Misfortune's lighten'd steps might wan- 
And Disappointment, m these lonely 
bounds, [hiig wounds; 
Find balm to soothe her bitter rank- 
Here heart-struck Grief might heaven- 
ward stretch her scan, [man. 
And injured Worth forget and pardon 



THE HUMBLE PETITION OF 
BRUAR WATER.* 

TO THE NOBLE DITKE OF ATHOLE. 

My lord, I know your noble ear 

Woe ne'er assails in vain; 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain. 
How saucy Phoebus' scorching beams, 

In flaming summer pride, [streams, 
Dry ■- withering, waste my foamy 

And druilc my crystal tide. 

The lightly-jumpin' glowrin' trouts, 

That through my waters play, 
If, in their rai^dom, wanton spouts. 

They near the margin stray; 
If, hapless chance! tlicy linger lang, 

I'm scorching up so shallow, 
They 'ra left, the whitening stanes 
amang. 

In gasping death to wallow. 

Last day I grat wi' spite and teen. 

As Poet Burns came by. 
That to a bard I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry ; 
A panegyric rhjmie, I ween. 

Even as I was lie shored' me ; 
But had I in my glory been, 

lie, kneeling, wad adored me. 



' Prom:scd. 
* Bruar Falls, in Athole, are e.xceedingfly 
picturesque and beautiful : but their eiiect is 
nmch impaired by the want of trees and 
shrubs. — B. 



POEMS. 



109 



Here, foaming down tlie slielvy rocks, 

In twisting strengtli I rin ; 
Tliere, liigli my boiling torrent smokes. 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn . 
Enjojing large each spring and well. 

As nature gave them me, 
t am, although I say 't mysel. 

Worth gaun* a mile to see. 

Would, then, my noblest master please 

To grant my highest Avishes, 
He '11 shade my banks wi' towering 
trees, 

And bonny spreading bushes, 
Delighted doubly, then, my lord. 

You '11 wander on my banks. 
And listen mony a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober laveroclc,^ warbling wild. 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink, Music's gayest child. 

Shall sweetly join the choir ; 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite 
clear. 

The mavis^ mild and mellow ; 
The robin pensive autumn cheer, 

In all her locks of yellow. 

This, too, a covert shall insure. 

To shield them from the storms ; 
And coward maukius^ sleep secure 

Low in their grassy forme , 
The shepherd here shall make his 
seat. 

To weave his crown of flowers ; 
Or find a sheltering safe retreat 

From prone descending showers. 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth. 

Shall meet the loving pair, 
Despising worlds with all their wealth, 

As empty idle care. [charms 

The flowers shall vie in all their 

The hour of heaven to grace, 
And birks extend their fragrant arms 

To screen the dear embrace. 

Here haply, too, at vernal dawn. 
Some musing bard may stray. 

And eye the smoking dewy lawn. 
And misty mountain gray , 

Or, by the reaper's nightly beam,'' 
Mild-chequering through the trees. 



^ Going-. 3 Lark. « Thrush. 
•The harvest moon. 



^ Hares. 



Rave to my darkly-dashing stream, 
Hoarse swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool, 

My lowly banks o'erspread. 
And view, deep-bending in the pool. 

Their shadows' watery bed ! 
Let fragrant birks in woodbines drest 

My craggy clifEs adorn ; 
And, for the little songster's nest. 

The close-embowering thorn. 

So may old Scotia's darling hope. 

Your little angel band. 
Spring, like their fathers, up to prop 

Their honour'd native laud! 
So may through Albion's furthest kea< 

To social -flowing glasses, 
The grace be — " Athole's honest men. 

And Athole's bonny lasses 1" 



LINES 



WKITTEJT ■WTTH A PENCIL, STANDrSTG 
BY THE FALL O^ FYERS, NEAR 
LOCH NESS. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged 

woods [floods; 

The roaring Fyers pours liis mossy 
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds. 
Where, through a shapeless breach, 

his stream resounds, [flow. 

As high in air the bursting torrents 
As deep-recoiling surges foam below, 
Prone down the rock the whitening 

sheet descends, [rends. 

And viewless Echo's ear, astonished 
Dim seen through rising mists and 

ceaseless showers, [lowers. 

The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, 
Still, through the gap the struggling 

river toils, [boils. 

And still, below, the horrid caldi'ou 



CASTLE-GORDOK 

Streams that glide in orient plains, 
Never bound by Winter's chains! 

Glowing here on golden sands. 
There commix'd with foulest stains 

From tyranny's empurpled bands; 
These, their richly-gleaming v/aves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slaves; 
Give me the stream that sweetly laves 

The banks by Castle-Gordon. 



no 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Spicy forests, ever gay, 
Shading from the burning ray, 

Hapless wretches sold to toil. 
Or the ruthless native's v>'ay, 

Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil ,* 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and the slave. 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 

The storms by Castle-Qordou. 

Wildly here without control, 
Nature reigns and rules the whole; 

In that sober pensive mood. 
Dearest to the feeling soul, [flood: 

She plants the forest, pours the 
Life's poor day I'll musing rave. 
And find at night a sheltering cave. 
Where waters flow and wild woods 
wave. 

By bonny Castle-Gordon 



ON SCARING SOME WATER 
FOWL IN LOCH TURIT. 

A WILD SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OP 
OCHTERTYRE. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake. 
For me your watery haunts forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus j'ou fly 1 
Why disturb your social joys. 
Parent, filial, kindred ties? — 
Common friend to you and me, 
Nature's gifts to all are free: 
Peaceful lieep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed, or wanton lave; 
Or, beneath the sheltering rock. 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race. 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 
Man, your proud usurping foe, 
Would be lord of all below: 
Plumes himself in freedom's pride, 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 
The eagle, from the cliffy brow, 
Marking you his prey below. 
In his breast no pity dwells, 
Strong necessity compels; 
But man, to whom alone is given 
A ray direct from pitying Heaven, 
Glories in his heart humane — 
And creatures for his pleasure slain, 
In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to wandering swains, 



Where the mossy rivulet strays, 

Far from human haunts and ways- 

All on nature you depend. 

And life's poor season peaceful spend. 

Or, if man's supe rior might 

Dare invade your native right. 

On the lofty ether borne, 

Man with all his powers you scorn; 

Swiftly seek, on clanging wings. 

Other lakes and other springs; 

And the foe you cannot brave 

Scorn at least to be his slave. 



TO MISS CRUIKSHANK, 

A VERY YOLTSTG LADY. WHITTEN ON 
THE BLANK LEAF OF A BOOK PRE- 
SENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. 

This young lady was the subject of one of the 
poet's EOHgs, " A Rosebud by my Early 
Walk." She was the daughter of Mr. Cruik- 
shank, No. 30 St. James' Square, Edin- 
burgh, with whom the poet resided for 
some time during one of his visits to Edin- 
burgh. She afterwards became the wife of 
Mr. Henderson, a solicitor in Jedburgh. 

EEATJTEors rosebud, young and gay, 

Blooming in thy early May, 

Never mayst thou, lovely flower! 

(hilly slii-ink in sleety shower ! 

Never Boreas' hoary path. 

Never Eurus' poisonous breath. 

Never baleful stellar lights, 

Taint thee with untimely blights! 

Never, never reptile thief 

Riot on thy virgin leaf! 

Not even Sol too fiercely view 

Thy bosom blushing still with dew ! 

Mayst thou long, sweet crimson gem. 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
'Till some evening, sober calm, 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm. 
While all around the woodland rings. 
And every bird thy requiem sings; 
Thou, amid the dirgeful sound. 
Shed thy dying honours round, 
And resign to parent earth 
The loveliest form she e'er gave birth. 



POETICAL ADDRESS TO MR. WIL- 
LIAM TYTLER. 

"WITH A PRESENT OF THE EARD'S 
PICTURE. 

Wilham Tytler, Esq., of Woodhouselee, to 
whom these lines were addressed, wrote a 



POEMS. 



Ill 



work in defence of Mary Queen of Scots, 
and earned the gratitude of Burns, who had 
all a poet's sympathies for the unfortunate 
and beautiful tjueen. Mr. Tytler was grand- 
father to Patrick Fraser Tytler, the author 
of " The History of Scotland." 

Eevered defender of beauteous Stu- 
art, 
Of Stuart, a name once respected, — 
A name which to love was the mark of 
a true heart. 
But now 'tis despised and neglected. 

Though something like moisture con- 

globes in my eye. 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 

A poor friendless wanderer may well 

claim a sigh, [royal. 

Still more, if that wanderer were 

My fathers that name have revered on 
a throne ; 
My fathers have fallen to right it ; 
Those fathers would spurn their degen- 
erate son, [slight it. 
That name should he scoffingly 

Still in prayers for King George I most 
heartily join. 
The queen and the rest of the gentry ; 
Be they wise, he they foolish, is noth- 
ing of mine — 
Their title's avow'd by my country. 

But why of this epocha make such a 
fuss 

That gave us the Hanover stem ; 
If bringing them over was lucky for us, 

I 'm sure 'twas as lucky for them. 

But, loyalty, trl^ce ! we 're on danger- 
ous ground, [alter ? 
Who knows how the fashions may 
The doctrine to-day that is loyalty 
sound. 
To-morrow may bring us a halter. 

I send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 
A trifle scarce worthy your care : 

But accept it, good sir, as a mark of re- 
gard. 
Sincere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades 

on your eye. 

And ushers the long dreary night • 

But you, like the star that athwart 

gilds the sky. 

Your course to the latest is bright. 



ELEGY ON THE DEATH OP ROB- 
ERT DUNDAS, ESQ., OF ARNIS- 
TON,* 

LATE LORD PRESIDENT OF THE COUET 

OF SESSION. 

In a letter to Dr. Geddes, Bums tells the fate 
of this poem, and makes his own comment: 
— " The following elegy has some tolerable 
lines in it, but the incurable wound of my 
pride will not suffer me to correct, or even 
peruse, it. I sent a copy of it, with my best 
prose letter, to the son of the great man, the 
theme of the piece, by the hands of one of 
the noblest men in God's world — Alexander 
Wood, surgeon. When, behold ! his solicit- 
orship took no more notice of my poem or 
me than if I had been a strolling fiddler who 
had made free with his lady's name over a 
silly new reel ! Did the gentleman imagine 
that I looked for any dirty gratuity !" 

Lone on the bleaky hills the straying 
flocks [tering rocks ; 

Shun the ncrce storms among the shel- 
Down foam the rmilets, red with dash- 
ing rains ; [tant plains ; 
The gathering floods burst o'er the dis- 
Beneath the blast the leafless forests 

groan ; 
The hollow caves return a sullen moan. 

Ye hills, ye plains, ye forests, and ye 
caves, [waves ! 

Ye howling winds, and vrintry-swelling 
Unheard, unseen, by human ear or eyo. 
Sad to your sympathetic scenes I fly ; 
Where, to the whistling blast and wa- 
ter's roar [plore. 
Pale Scotia's recent wound I may de- 
Oh heavy loss, thy country ill could 

bear ! 
A loss these evil days can ne'er repair ! 
Justice, the high vicegerent of her (Jod, 
Her doubtful balance eyed, and sway'd 

her rod ; 
She heard the tidings of the fatal blow, 
And sunk, abandon'd to the wildest 



Wrongs, injuries, from many a dark- 
some den, [men : 
Now gay in hope explore the paths of 
See, from his cavern, grim Oppression 
rise. 



* Elder brother to Viscount Melville, born 
1713, appointed President in 1760, and died 
December 13, 1787, after a short illness. 



113 



BUKNS' WORKS. 



And throw on Poverty liis cruel ejes ; 

Keen on tlie lielpless victim see kim 

%, [cry. 

And stifle, dark, the feebly-bursting 

Mark ruffian Violence, distained with 

crimes, [times ; 

Eousing elate in these degenerate 
View unsuspecting Innocence a prey, 
As guileful Fraud points out the erring 

way : 
While subtle Litigation's pliant tongue 
The life-blood equal sucks of Right 

and Wrong : [listeu'd tale, 

Hark ! injured Want recounts th' un- 
And much-wrong'd Misery pours the 

unpitied wail ! 

Te dark waste hills, and brown un- 
sightly plains, [strains : 
To you 1 sing my grief - inspired 
Ye tempests, rage ! ye turbid torrents, 

roll ! 
Ye suit the joyless tenor of my soul. 
Life's social haunts and pleasures I re- 
sign, [ings mine, 
Be nameless wilds and lone wander- 
To mourn the woes my country must 
endure, [cure. 
That wound degenerate ages cannot 



TO CLARINDA, 

ON THE poet's LEAVING EDINBUKGH. 

The maiden name of Clarinda was Agnes 
Craig. At the time Burns made her ac- 
quamtance she was the wife of a Mr. M'Le- 
hose, from whom she had been separated 
on account of incompatibility of temper, 
etc. She seems to have entertained a sin- 
cere affection for the poet. Burns, who was 
always engaged in some affair of the heart, 
■seems to have been much less sincere. His 
letters to her are somewhat forced and stilt- 
ed, and contrast very unfavourably with 
those of hers, which have been preserved. 
He soon forgot her, however, to her great 
regret and mortification. She was beautiful 
and accomplished, and a poetess. (See pre- 
fatory note to Letters to Clarinda.) Burns 
thus alludes to one of her productions : — 
" Your last verses to me have so delighted 
me that I have got an excellent old Scots air 
that suits the measure, and you shall see 
them in print in the Scois Musical Mtiseum^ 
a work publishing by a friend of mine in 
this town. The air is ' The Banks of Spey,' 
and is most beautiful. I want four stanzas 
— you gave me but three, and one of them 
alluded to an expression in my former let- 
ter; so I have taken your first two verses. 



with a slight alteration in the second, and 
have added a third ; but you must help me 
to a fourth. Here they are; the latter half 
of the first stanza would have been wortl^,y 
of Sappho ; I am in raptures with it ; — 

" ' Talk not of Love, it gives me pain. 
For love has been my foe ; 
He bound me with an iron chain. 
And plunged me deep in woe. 

" ' But friendship's pure and lasting joys 
My heart was form'd to prove ; 
There, welcome, win, and wear the prize. 
But never talk of Love. 

" ' Your friendship much can make me blest. 
Oh ! why that bliss destroy? 
Why urge the odious [only] one request 
You know I must [will] deny ?' 

" P.S. — What would you think of this for a 
fourth stanza ? 

" ' Your thought, if Love must harbour there, 
Conceal it in that thought ; 
Nor cause me from my bosom tear 
The very friend I sought.' '' 

These verses are inserted In the second vol- 
ume of the Musical Museum. 

Clarinda, mistress of my soul, 
The measured time is run ! 

The wretch beneath the dreary pole. 
So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie ? 
Deprived of thee, his life and light. 

The sun of all his joy ! 

We part— but, by these precious drops 

That fill thy lovely eyes ! 
No other light shall guide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her sex. 

Has blest my glorious day; 
And shall a glimmering planet fix 

My worship to its ray ? 



TO CLARINDA, 

Vf ITH A PRESENT OP A PAIR OF DRINli- 
ING-GLASSES. 

Fair empress of the poet's soul. 

And queen of poetesses; 
Clarinda, take this little boon, 

This humble pair of glasses. 

And fill them high with generous juice, 

As generous as your mind; 
And pledge me in the generous toast— 

" 'The whole of human kind 1" 



POEMS. 



113 



" To tliose tliat love us !" — second fill; 

But not to tliose wlioin we love; 
Lest we love those who love not us ! 

A third — " To thee and me, love I" 

Long may we live ! long may we love ! 

And long may we be happy ! 
And never may we want a glass 

Well charged with generous nappy ! 



TO CLARINDA. 
Befoke I saw Clarinda's face, 

My heart was blithe and gay. 
Free as the wind, or feather'd race 

That hop from spray to spray. 

But now dejected I appear, 

C'larinda proves unlcind; 
1, sighing, drop the silent tear, 

But no relief can find. 

ti plaintive notes my tale rehearses 
When I the fair have found; 

On every tree appear my verses 
That to her praise resound. 

But she, ungrateful, shuns my sight. 

My faithful love disdains, 
My vows and tears her scorn excite — 

Another happy reigns. 

Ah, though my looks betray, 

I envy your success; 
Yet love to friendship shall give way, 

1 cannot wish it less. 



TO CLARINDA. 
" I BURN, I burn, as whefl through 

ripen'd corn, [are borne!" 

By driving winds, the crackling flames 
Now maddening wild, I cur.se that 

fatal night; [my guilty sight. 

Now bless the hour which charm'd 
In vain the laws their feeble force 

oppose; [vanquish'd foes; 

Chain'd at his feet they groan Love's 
In vain Religion meets my shrinldng 

eye, 
I dare not combat — ^but I turn and fly: 
Conscience in vain upbraids the unhal 

low d fire, [expire; 

Love grasps its scorpions — stifled they 
Reason drops headlong from his sacred 

throne, 



Your dear idea reigns, and reigns alone: 
Each thought intoxicated homage 

yields. 
And riots wanton in forbidden fields ! 

By all on high adoring mortals know ! 
By all the conscious villain fears below! 
By your dear self ! — the last great oath 

I swear — 
Nor life nor soul was ever half so dear I 



LINES 



WHITTEN IN FRLIUS' CAUSE HERMIT- 
AGE, ON THE BANKS OF THE NITH. 
{First Version^ 

Burns thought so well of this poem, that he 
preserved both copies. The first was writ- 
ten in June, 1783. The MS. of the amended 
copy is headed, " Altered from the forego- 
ing, in December, 1788." The hermitage in 
which these lines were written was on the 
property of Captain Riddel of Friars' Carse, 
a beautiful house with fine grounds, a mile 
above Elhsland. One of the many kindly 
favours extend to the poet by Captain Rid- 
del and his accomplished lady was the per- 
mission to wander at will in the beautiful 
grounds of Friars' Carse. The first si.x lines 
were graven with a diamond on a pane oi 
glass in a window of the hermitage. 

Thou v/hom chance may hither lead. 
Be thou clad in russet weed. 
Be thou deckt in silken stole. 
Grave these maxims on thy soul: — 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Day, how rapid in its flight — 
Day, how few must see the night; 
Hope not sunshine every hour. 
Fear not clouds will always lower. 
Happiness is but a name, 
Make content and ease thy aim; 
Ambition is a meteor gleam ; 
Fame an idle, restless dream : 
Pleasures, insects on the wing. 
Round Peace, the tenderest flower oi 

Spring ! 
Those that sip the dew alone. 
Make the butterflies thy own ; 
Tliose that would the bloom devour. 
Crush the locusts — save the flower. 
For the future be prepared, 
Guard v.'hatever thou canst guard : 
But, thy utmost duly done. 
Welcome what thou canst not shua. 
Follies past give thou to air, 



114 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Make their consequence thy care ; 
Keep the name of man in mind, 
And dishonour not thy kind. 
Reverence with lowly heart 
Him whose wondrous work thou art ; 
Keep His goodness still in view. 
Thy trust — and thy example, too. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven he thy guide, 
Quoth the Beadsman on Nithside. 



LINES 



■WEITTElT TNT FRIARS' CAUSE HERMIT 
AGBi ON NITHSIDE. 

{Second Version^ 

Thott whom chance may hither lead. 
Be thou clad in russet weed. 
Be thou deckt in silken stole, 
Grave these counsels on thy soul : — 

Life is but a day at most. 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost ; 
Hope not sunshine every hour, 
Fear not clouds will always lower. 

As Youth and Love, with sprightly 

dance, 
Beneath thy morning- star advance, 
Pleasure, with her siren air. 
May delude the thoughtless pair ; 
Let Prudence bless Enjoyment's cup. 
Then raptured sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale ? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou 

scale ? 
Clieck thy climbing step, elate. 
Evils lurk in felon wait : 
Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold, 
Soar around each cliffy hold, 
While cheerful Peace, with linnet song, 
Chants the lowly dells among. 

As the shades of evening close, 
Beckoning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease. 
Seek the chimney neuk of ease. 
There ruminate with sober thought 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and 

wrought j 
And teach the sportive younkers round. 
Saws of experience sage and sound ; 
Say, man's true, genuine estimate, 



The grand criterion of his fate. 
Is not — Art thou high or low ? 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 
Wast thou cottager or king ? 
Peer or peasant 'i^ — no such thing ! 
Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal Nature grudge thee one ? 
Tell them, and press it on their mind. 
As thou thyself must shortly find. 
The smile or frown of awful Heaven 
To Virtue or to Vice is given. 
Say, " To be just, and kind, and wise, 
There solid Self enjoyment lies; 
That-foolish, selfish, faithless ways 
Lead to the v/retched, vile and base." 

Thun resign'd and quiet, creep 

To the bed of lasting sleep; 

Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake. 

Night, where dawn shall never break. 

Till future life — future no more — 

To light and joy the good restore. 

To light and joy unknown before! 

Stranger, go! Heaven be thy guide! 
Quoth the Beadsman of Nitiiside. 



A MOTHER'S LAMENT FOR THE 

DEATH OP- HER SON. 

The poet says- — " ' The Mother's Lament' 
was composed partly with a view to Mrs. 
Fergusson of Craigdarroch, and partly to the 
worthy patroness of my early unknown 
muse, Mrs. Stewart of Afton." It was also 
inserted in the Musical Museum, to the tune 
of " Finlayston House." 

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped. 

And pierced my darling's hearti 
And with him all the joys are fled 

Life can to me impart. 
By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

In dust dishonour'd laid; 
So fell the pride of all my hopes. 

My age's future shade. 

The mother linnet in the brake 

Bewails her ravish'd young. 
So I, for my lost darling's sake. 

Lament the live day long 
Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow. 

Now, fond, I bare my breast. 
Oh, do thou kindly lay me low 

With him I love, at rest! 



POEMS. 



115 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788. 

A SKETCH. 

Cunningham says : — " Truly has the plough- 
man bard described the natures of those 
illustrious rivals, Fox and Pitt, under the 
similitude of the ' birdie cocks,' Nor will 
the allusion to the 'hand-cuffed, muzzled, 
half-shackled I'egent ' be lost on those who 
remember the alarm into which the nation 
was thrown by the king's illness." 

For lords or kings I dinna mourn. 
E'en let tliem die — for that they're 

bornl 
But oh! prodigious to refiec'I 
A towmont,^ sirs, is gane to wreckl 
O Eighty-eight, in tliy sma' space 
What dire events hae taken place! 
Of what enjoyments thou hast reft us! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us! 

The Spanish empire's tint^ a head, 
And my auld teethless Bawtie's* dead; 
The tulzie's* sair 'tween Pitt and Fox, 
And our guidwife's wee birdie cocks; 
Tlie tane is game, a hluidy devil, 
But to the hen-birds unco civil; 
The tither's something dour o' treadin', 
But better stufE ne'er claw'd a midden. 

Ye ministers, come mount the pu'pit. 
And cry till ye be hoarse and roopit, 
For Eighty-eight he wish'd you weel, 
And gied you a' baith gear^ and meal; 
E'en mony a plack, and mony a peck. 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck !* 

Ye bonny lasses , dighf your een. 
For some o' you hae tint a frien'; 
In Eighty-eight, ye ken,^ was ta'en 
What ye'll ne'er hae to gie again. 

Observe the very no^vte' and sheep, 
How dowf and do%vie"' nowthey creep; 
Nay, even the yirth itsel does cry. 
For Embragh wells are grutten" dry. 

Eighty-nine, thou's but a bairn, 
And no owre auld, I hope to learn ! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care. 
Thou now hast got thy daddy's chair, 
Nae hand-cufE'd, muzzled, half -shack- 
led regent, 
But like himsel, a full, free agent. 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 

' Twelvemonth. '^ Lost. ^ His dogr. 

* Fig-ht. » Goods. « Work. ' Wipe. » Know. 
» Cattle. 1" Pithless and low spirited. '^ Wept. 



Nae waur''^ than he did, honest man I 
As muclvle better as you can. 
Jan. I, 17S9. 



TO CAPTAIN RIDDEL OF GliEN- 
RIDDEL. 

EXTEMPORE I.INES ON EETURNINO- A 
NEWSPAPER. 

The newspaper sent contained some sharp 
strictures on the poet's works. 

Ellist^and, Monday EveniiTg^. 

Your news and review, sir, I've read 

through and through, sir, 

With little admiring or blaming; 

The papers are barren of home news or 

foreign, [hig. 

No murders or rapes worth the naui- 

Our friends the reviewers, those chip- 

pers and hewers, 
Are judges of mortar and stone, sir; 
But of meet or unmeet, in a fabria 

complete, 
I boldly pronounce they are none, sir. 

My goose-quill too rude is to tell all your 

goodness 

Bestow'd on your servant the poet; 

Would to God I had one like a beam 

of the sttn, [know it 1 

And then all the world, sir, should 



ODE: 



SACRED TO THE MEMORY OB* 
MRS. OSWALD. 

The origin of this bitter and not very credit- 
able effusion is thus related by the poet in a 
letter to Dr. Moore : — " The enclosed ' Ode' 
is a compliment to the memory of the late 
Mis. Oswald of Auchincruive. You prob- 
ably knew her personally, an honour which 
I cannot boast, but I spent my early years 
in her neighbourhood, and among ifier ser- 
vants and tenants. I know that she was de- 
tested with the most heartfelt cordiality. 
However, in the particular part of her con- 
duct which roused my poetical wrath she 
v/as much less blamable. In January last, 
oij my road to Ayrsliire, I had to put up at 
Bailie Whigham's in Sanquhar, the onl/ 
tolerable inn in the place. The frost was 
keen, and the grim evening and howling 
v/ind were ushering in a night of snow and 
drift. My horse and I were both muci 



»!> Worse. 



113 



BURNS' WORKS. 



fatigued with the labours of the day ; and 
just as my friend the bailie and I were bid- 
ding detiance to the storm, over a smoking 
bowl, in wheels the funeral pageantry of the 
late lilrs. Oswald ; and poor I am forced to 
brave all the terrors of the tempestuous 
night, and jade my horse — my young favor- 
ite horse, whom I had just christened 
Pegasus — further on, through the wildest 
hills and moors of Ayrshire, to New Cum- 
nock, the next inn. The powers of poesy 
and prose sink under me when I would de- 
scribe what I fell. Suffice it to say that, 
when a good lire at New Cumnock had so 
far recovered my frozen sinews, I sat down 
and wrote the enclosed ' Ode.' " The poet 
hved to think more favourably of the name : 
one of his finest lyrics, " Oh, wat ye wha's 
in yon town," was written in honour of the 
beauty of the succeeding Mrs. Oswald. 

Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation, mark ! 
Wlio in widow-weeds appears, 
L-iden with unhonour'd years. 
In oosing with care a bursting purse, 
Baited with many a deadly curse ! 



View the wither'd beldam's face — 
Can thy keen inspection trace [grace ? 
Aught of humanity's sweet melting 
Kote that eye, 'tis rheum o'erflows, 
Pity's flood there never rose. 
See these hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 
Hands that took — but never gave. 
Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 
Lo, there she goes, unpitied and 
unblest — [lasting rest ! 

She goes, but not to realms of ever- 

ANTISTKOPHE. 

Plunderer of armies, lift thine eyes, 
(A while forbear, ye torturing fiends;) 
Seest thou whose step, unwilling hither 
bends ? [skies ; 

No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper 
'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 
Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, 
She, tardy, hellward plies. 

EPODE. 

And are they of no more avail. 

Ten thousand glittering pounds a year? 

In other worlds can Mammon fail. 

Omnipotent as he is here ? 

Oh, bitter mockery of the pompous bier, 

While down the wretched vital part is 

driven ! [science clear, 

The cave- lodged beggar, with a con- 
Expires in rags, unknown, and goes to 

heaven. 



TO JOHN TAYLOR. 

" The poet," says a correspondent of Cunning, 
ham s, " it seems, during one of his journeys 
over his ten parishes as an exciseman, had 
arrived at Wanlockhead on a winter day, 
when the roads were shppery with ice, and 
Jenny Geddes, his mare, kept her feet with 
difficulty. The blacksmith of the place was 
busied with other pressing matters in tiie 
forge and could not spare time for 'frosting' 
the shoes of the poet's mare, and it is likely 
he would have proceeded on his dangerous 
journey, had he not bethought himself of 
propitiating the son of Vulcan with verse. 
He called for pen and ink, wrote these 
verses to John Taylor, a person of influence 
in Wanlockhead ; and when he had done, a 
gentleman of the name of Sloan, who ac- 
companied him, added these words : — ' J. 
Sloan's best eompliments to Mr. Taylor, and 
it would be doing him and the Ayrshire 
bard a particular favour, if he would oblige 
them instantcr with his agreeable company. 
The road has been so slippery that the riders 
and the brutes v/ere equally in danger of 
getting some of their bones broken. For 
the poet, his life and limbs are of some con- 
sequence to the world ; but for poor Sloan. 
it matters very little what may become of 
him. The whole of this business is to ask 
the favour of getting the horses' shoes 
sharpened.' On the receipt of this, Taylor 
spoke to the smith, the smith flew to his 
tools, sharpened the horses' shoes, and, it is 
recorded, lived thirty years to say he had 
never been ' weel paid but ance, and that 
was by the poet, who paid him in money, 
paid him in drink, and paid him in verse.' '' 

With Pegasus upon a day, 

Apollo weary flying. 
Through frosty hills the journey lay. 

On foot the way was plying. 

Poor slipshod giddy Pegasus 

Was but a sorry walker; 
To Vulcan then Apollo goes. 

To get a frosty caulker.* 

Obliging Vulcan fell to work. 
Threw by his coat and bonnet. 

And did Sol's business in a crack; 
Sol paid him with a sonnet. 

Ye Vulcan's sons of Wanlockhead, 

Pity my sad disaster; 
My Pegasus is poorly shod — 

ril pay you like my master, 

Robert Biiens. 

Ramage's, three o'clock. 



* A nail put into a shoe to prevent the foot 
from slipping in frosty weather. 



SKETCH: 

INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. 
C. J. FOX. 

In a letter to Mrs. Dunlop the poet says, " I 
have a poetic whim in my head, which I at 
present dedicate or rather inscribe, to the 
Right Hon. Charles James Fox ; but how 
long that fancy may hold, 1 cannot say. A 
few of the first lines I have just rough- 
sketched as follows: " — 

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and 

unite; [and their white; 

How virtue and vice blend their black 

How genius the illustrious father of 

fiction, [tradiction — 

Confounds rale and law, reconciles con- 

I sing: if these mortals, the critics, 

should bustle, [whistle! 

I care not, not I — let the critics go 

But now for a patron, whose name 

and whose glory [story. 

.At once may illustrate and honour my 

Thou first of our orators, first of our 

wits; I [seem mere lucky hits; 

Yet whose parts and acquirements 
With knowledge so vast, and with 

judgment so strong, [far wrong; 

No maa with the half of 'em e'er went 
With passions so potent, and fancies so 

bright, [quite right; — 

No man with the half of 'em e'er went 
A sorry, poor misbegot son of the 

Muses 
For using thy name offers fifty excuses. 

Good Lord, what is man ? for as simple 

he looks, [his crooks ; 

Do but try to develop his hooks and 
With his depths and his shallows, his 

good and his evil; [the devil. 

All in all he's a problem must puzzle 
Oti his one ruling passion Sir Pope 

hugely labours. 
That, like the old Hebrew Tsfalking- 

switch, eats up its neighbours ; 
Mankind are his show- bos — a friend, 

w ould you know him ? 
Pull the string, ruling passion the 

picture will show him. 
What pity, in rearing so beauteous a 

system, [liave niiss'd him ; 

One trifling particular truth should 
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions. 
Mankind is a science defies defiuitioas. 



Some sort all our qualities each to its 

tribe, [describe ; 

And think human nature they truly 

Have you found this, or t'other ? there's 

more in the wind. 
As by one drunken fellow his com- 
rades you '11 find. [the plan, 
But such is the flaw, or the depth of 
In the make of that wonderful creattire 
call'd man, [claim. 
No two virtues, whatever relation they 
Nor even two different shades of the 
same, [to broth«T', 
Though like as was ever twin brother 
Possessing the one shall imply you 've 
the other. 

But truce with abstraction, and truce 

with a Muse, [deign to peruse: 

Whose rhymes you '11 perhaps, sir, ne'er 
Will you leave your justings, your jars, 

and your quarrels, [ding laurels ? 
Contending with Billy for proud-nod- 
My much - honour'd patron, believa 

your poor poet. 
Your courage much more than your 

prudence you show it ; 
In vain with Squire Billy for laurels 

you struggle. 
He '11 have them by fair trade, if not, 

he will smuggle ; [ceal 'em. 

Not cabinets even of kings would con- 
He 'd up the back-stairs, and by God 

he would steal 'em. 
Then feats like Squire Billy's you ne'er 

can achieve 'em, [thieve him. 

It is not, outdo him, the task is out* 



VERSES 

ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMl? 
BY ME WHICH A FELLOW HAD JUST 
SHOT. 

This poem was founded on a real incident- 
James Thomson, a neighbour of the poet's, 
states that having shot at, and wounded a 
hare, it ran past the poet, who happened to 
be near. " He cursed me, and said he would 
not mind throwing me into the water ; and 
I'll warrant he could hae done't, though I 
was both young and strong." 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barb'rous 

art, [eye ; 

And blasted be thy murder-aiming 

May never pity soothe thee with a 

sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart I 



lis 



BUHNS' WORKS. 



Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and 

field! 

The bitter little that of life remains ; 

No more the thickening brakes and 

verdant plains [yield. 

To thee shall home, or food, or pastime 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of 

wonted rest, [bed ! 

No more of rest , but now thy djang 

The sheltering rushes whistling o'er 

thy head, [prest. 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom 

Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, 

wait [dawn , 

The sober eve, or hail the cheerful 

I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy 

lawn, [thy hapless fate. 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn 



DELIA. 



AN ODE. 

This ode was sent to the Star newspaper "vvith 
the following characteristic letter ; — " Mr. 
Printer, — If the productions of a simple 
ploughman can merit a place in the same 
paper with the other favourites of the 
Muses who illuminate the Star with the 
lustre of genius, your insertion of the en- 
closed trifle will be succeeded by future 
communications from yours, etc., 

" Robert Burns. ' 

" Ellisland, near Dumfries, May 18, 1789." 

Fair the face of orient day. 
Fair the tints of opening rose; 
But fairer still my Delia dawns, 
More lovely far her beauty blows. 

Sweet the lark's wild- warbled lay. 
Sweet the tinkling rill to hear; 
But, Delia, more delightful still. 
Steal thine accents on mine ear. 

The flower-enamour'd busy bee, 
The rosy banquet loves to sip; 
Sweet the streamlet's limpid lapse 
To the sun-brown'd Arab's lip. 

But, Delia, on thy balmy lips 
Tjet me, no vagrant insect, rove! 
Oh, let me steal one liquid kiss! 
For, oh ! my soul is jxircu'd with love ! 



ADDEESS TO THE TOOTHACHE. 

WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS 
GRIEVOUSLY TORMENTED BY THAT 
DISORDER. 

My curse upon the venom'd stang, 
That shoots my tortured gums alang; 
And through my lugs gies mony a 
twaag, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance; 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang, 

Like racking engines! 

^^Tiien fevers burn, or ague freezes. 
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes; 
Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us, 

Wi' pitying moan: 
But thee — thou hell o' a' diseases, 

Aye mocks our groan! 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle! 
I kick the wee stools o'er the mickle, 
As round the fire the giglets keckle,^ 

To see me loup,- 
While raving mad, I wish a heckle* 

Were in their doup. 

Of a' the numerous human dools,^ 
111 hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools. 
Or worthy friends raided i' the mools,* 

Sad sight to see! 
The tricks o' Ivnaves, or fash o' fools. 

Thou bear'st the gree. 

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell. 
Whence a' the tones o' misery yell , 
And ranked plagues their numbers 
tell, 

In dreadfu' raw, [bell 
Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the 

Amang them a' ! 

thou grim mischief -making cliiel, 
That gars the notes of discord squeel. 
Till daft manlvind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe thick. 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's Aveal 

A towmond's^ toothache! 



1 The mirthful children laugh. ^ Jump. 
3 Troubles. ^ Grave— earth. ^ Twelve- 
month's. 

* A frame in which is stuck, sharp ends up- 
permost, from fifty to a hundred steel spikes, 
through which the nempis drawn to straight 
en It for manufacturing purposes. 



POEMS. 



119 



THE KIRK'S ALARM. 

A SATIRE. 

We quote Lockhart's account of the origin of 
the '"Kirk's Alarm-" — " M'GiU and Dal- 
rymple, the two ministers of the town of Ayr, 
had long been suspected of entertaining 
heterodox opinions on several points, par- 
ticularly the doctrine of original sin and the 
Trinity ; and the former at length published 
'An Essay on the Death of Jesus Christ,' 
which was considered as demanding the 
notice of the Church courts. More than a 
year was spent m the discussions which 
arose out of this : and at last. Dr. M'Gill was 
fain to acknowledge his errors, and promise 
that he would take an early opportunity; of 
apologising for them to his congregation 
from the pulpit, which promise, however. 
he never performed. The gentry of the 
country took, for the most part, the side ol 
M'Gill, who was a man of cold, unpopular 
manners, but of unreproached moral char- 
acter, and possessed of some accomplish- 
ments. The bulk of the lower orders 
espoused, with far more fervid zeal, the 
cause of those who conducted the prosecu- 
tion against this erring doctor. Gavm 
Hamilton, and all persons of his stamp, were, 
of course, on the side of M'GiU — Auld and 
the Mauchline elders Vv^ith his enemies. 
Robert Aiken, a writer in Ayr, a man n* re- 
markable talents, particularly in public 
speaking, had the principal management oi 
M'Gill's cause before the presbytery and the 
synod. He was an intimate friend of Ham- 
ilton's, and through him had about this time 
formed an acquaintance v.'hich soon ripened 
into a warm friendship with Burns. Burns 
■was, therefore, from the beginning, a zeal- 
ous, as in the end he was, perhaps, the most 
effective, partisan of the side on which 
Aiken had staked so much of his reputation." 

Orthodox, orthodox, 
Wha believe..in Joliii Knox, 

Let me sound an alarm to your con- 
science — 
There's a heretic blast 
Has been blawn i' the wast, 

That what is not sense must be non- 



Doctor Mac,* Doctor Mac, 

You should stretch on a rack 
To strike evil doers wi' terror; 

To join faith and sense, 

Upon ony pretence, 
fe heretic, damnable error. 

Town of Ayr, town of Ayr, 
It was mad, I declare. 



Dr. M'Gill. 



To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing ; 

Provost Johnf is still deaf 

To the Church's relief, 
And Orator Bob :}: is its ruin, 

D'rymple mild,^ D'rymple mild, 

Though your heart 's like a child, 
And your life like the new-drivea 
snaw ; 

Yet that winna save ye, 

Auld Satan must have ye, [twa. 
For preaching that three 's ane and 

Rumble John, || Rumble John, 
IMotmt the steps wi' a groan. 

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; 
Then lug out your ladle. 
Deal brimstone like adle, ' 

And roar every note of the damn'd. 

Simper James,*f Simper James, 
Leave the fair Killie'^ dames, 

There 's a holier chase in your view 
I '11 lay on your head 
That the pack ye '11 soon lead, 

For puppies lilce you there 's but few. 

Singet Sawney,** Singet^ Sawney, 

Are ye herding the penny. 
Unconscious what evil await ? 

Wi' a jump,yell and howl. 

Alarm every soul. 
For the foul thief is just at your gate. 

Daddy Auld.ff Daddy Auld, 

There 's a tod* in the fauld, 
A tod meikle waur than the clerk ;|| 

Though ye downa do skaith,* 

Ye '11 be in at the death, 
And if ye canna bite, ye can bark. 



^ Putrid water. ^ Kilmarnock. ^ Singed. 
* Fox. ^ Harm. 

t John Ballantyne, Esq., provost of Ayr, t3 
whom the '' Twa Brigs " is dedicated. 

i Mr. Robert Aiken, writer in Ayr, to whoiq 
the "Cotter's Saturday Night 'is inscribed. 
He was agent for Dr. M'Gill in the presbytery 
and synod. 

§ The Rev. Dr. William Dalrymple, seniot 
minister of the collegiate church of Ayr. 

II The Rev. John Russell, celebrated in tha 
"Holy Fair." 

*i The Rev. James Mackinlay, the hero oi 
the " Ordination." 

** The Rev Alexander Moodie,of Riccarton, 
one of the heroes of the "Twa Herds." 

It The Rev. Ml. Auld, of Mauchline. 

tt The clerk was Mr. Gavin Hamilton, who 
had been a thorn in the side of Mr. Auld. i 



130 



BUENS' WORKS. 



Davie Bluster, §§ Davie Bluster, 

For a saunt if ye muster, 
The corps is no nice of recruits ; 

Yet to vi'ortli let 's be just. 

Royal blood ye miglit boast, 
If the ass were the king of the brutes. 

Jamie Goose, 1||| Jamie Goose, 
Ye hae made but toom roose,^ 

In hunting the wicked lieutenant ; 
But the doctor 's your mark, 
For the Lord's haly ark [in 't. 

He has cooper'd and ca'd' a wrang pin 

Poet Willi6,t«irPoet Willie, 

Gie the Doctor a volley, [wit; 

Wi' your "Liberty's chain" and your 

O'er Pegasus' side 

Ye ne'er laid a stride, [he . 

Ye but smelt, man, the plac e where 

Andro Gouk,*** Andro Gouk, 
Ye may slander the book, [tell ye ; 

And the book nane the waur, let me 
Though ye're rich and look big. 
Yet lay by hat and wig, [value. 

And ye'll hae a calf's head o' sma' 

Barr Steenie.fff Barr Steenie, 

What mean ye, what mean yo ? 
If ye'll meddle nae mair wi' tlie matter, 

Ye may hae some pretence 

To liavins^ and sense, 
Wi' people wha ken ye nae better. 

Irvine side,:j:|::|: Irvine side, 
Wi' your turkey-cock pride, 

Of manhood but sma' is your share; 
Ye've the figure, 'tis true, 
Even your faes will allow, 

And 3'our friends they daur grant you 
nae mair. 

Muirland Jock,§§§ Muirland Jock, 
When the Lord makes a rock 

° Empty fame. ' Driven. ^ Good manners. 

§§ Mr. Grant, Ochiltree. 

IJ Mr. Young, Cumnock. 

^*[ The Rev. Dr. Peebles, of Newton-upon- 
Ayr, the author of an indifferent poem on the 
centenary of the revolution, in which occurred 
the line to which the poet alludes. 

*** Dr. Andrew Mitchell, Monkton, a 
wealthy member of presbytery. 

t++ Rev. Stephen Young, Barr. 

ttl: Rev. Mr. George Smith, Galston. 

£ ?5 Mr. John Shepherd, Muirkirk. 



To crush Common Sense for her sins, 

If ill manners were wit. 

There's no mortal so fit 
To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

Holy Will, I II II Holy Will, 
There was wit i' your skull 

When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor; 
The timmer is scant, 
When ye're ta'en for a saunt, 

Wha should swing in a rape for an 
hour, 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons. 
Seize your spiritual guns. 

Ammunition you never can need 
Your hearts are the stuff 
Will be powther enough. 

And your skulls are storehouses o' lead. 

Poet Burns, Poet Burns, 

Wi' your priest -skelping turns. 

Why desert ye your auld native shire ? 
Your Muse is a gipsy — 
E'en though she were tipsy, 

She could ca' us nae waur than we are. 



THE WHISl 

Burns says : — " As the authentic prose his- 
tory of the 'Whistle' is curious, I shall 
here give it : — In the train of Anne of Den- 
mark, when she came to Scotland with our 
James the Sixth, there came over also a 
Danish gentleman of gigantic stature and 
great prowess, and a matchless champion of 
Bacchus. He had a little ebony whistle, 
which at the commencement of the orgies 
he laid on the table, and whoever was the 
last able to blow it, everybody else being 
disabled by the potency of the bottle, was 
to carry off the whistle as a trophy of 
victory. The Dane produced credentials of 
his victories, vv-ithout a single defeat, at the 
courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, 
Warsaw, and several of the petty courts in 
Germany ; and challenged the Scots Bac- 
chanalians to the alternative of trying his 
prowess, or else of acknowledging their in- 
feriority. After many overthrows on the 
part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered 
by Sir Robert Lawrie of Maxwelton, ances- 
tor of the present worthy baronet of that 
name, who, after three days' and three 
nights' hard contest, left the Scandinaviaa 
under the table. 

And blew on the whistle his requiem shrill. 

Sir Walter, son of Sir Robert before men. 



!|;l|| William Fisher, elder in Mauchlinei 
whom Burns so often scourged. 



POEMS. 



121 



tioned, af terv/ards lost the whistle to Walter 
Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a 
sister of Sir Walter's. On Friday, the i6th 
of October, 1789, at Friars' Carse, the whis- 
tle was once more contended for, as related 
in the ballad, by the present Sir Robert 
Lawrie of Maxvvelton ; Robert Riddel, Esq., 
of Glenriddel, lineal descendant and repre- 
sentative of Walter Riddel, who won the 
whistle, and in whose family it had contin- 
ued ; and Ale.xander Ferguson, Esq., of 
Craigdarroch, likewise descended from the 
great Sir Robert, which last gentleman car- 

iried off the hard-won honours of the 
field." 
A good deal of doubt was at one time felt as 
to whether Burns was present at the con- 
test for the whistle — Professor Wilson hav- 
ing contended that he was not present: cit- 
ing as evidence a letter to Captain Riddel, 
which will be found in the General Corre- 
spondence. These doubts are now set at 
rest. Captain Riddel, in replying to the 
letter mentioned, invited the poet to be 
present. He answered as follows :— 

" The king's poor blackguard slave am I, 
And scarce dow spare a minute ; 
But I'll be with you by-and-by, 
Or else the devil's in it !" — B. 

Mr. Chambers places the matter still further 
beyond doubt by quoting the testimony of 
William Hunter, then a servant at Friars' 
Carse, who was living in 1851, and who dis- 
tinctly remembered that Burns was there, 
and, what was better still, that Burns was 
remarkably temperate during the whole 
evening, and took no part in the debauch. 

I SING of a whistle, a whistle of worth, 
I sing of a whistle, the pride of the 
North, [Scottish king, 

Was brought to the court of our good 
And long with this whistle all Scot- 
land shall ring. 

Old Loda * still rueing the arm of 
Fingal, [ his hall— 

The god of the bottle sends down from 

" This whistle's your challenge — to 
Scotland get o'er, [me more!" 

And drink them to hell, sir, or ne'er see 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles 
tell, [pions fell; 

What champions ventured, what cham- 

The son of great Loda was conqueror 
still, [shrill, 

And blew on the whistle his requiem 

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and 

the Skarr, [in war, 

Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd 

* See Ossian's Caric-thura. — B, 



He drank his poor godship as deep as 

the sea, [he. 

No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than 

Thus Eobert, victorious, the trophy 
hasgain'd; [remain'd; 

Which now in his house has for ages 

Till three noble chieftains, and all of 
his blood, 

The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

Three joj'ous good fellows, with hearts 
clear of flaw: [and law; 

Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth. 

And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in olj 
coins: [old wines. 

And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue 
smooth as oil, [spoil; 

Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the 

Or else he would muster the heads of 
the clan [was the man. 

And once more, in claret, try which 

" By the gods of the ancients!" Glen- 
riddel replies, 

' ' Before I surrender so glorious a prize, 

I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie 
Moref [times o'er." 

And bumper his horn with him twenty 

Sir Eobert, a soldier, no speech would 
pretend, [ — or his friend. 

But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe 

Said, Toss down the whistle, the prize 
of the field, [he'd yield. 

And, knee-deep in claret, he'd die ere 

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes 
repair, [care ; 

So noted for drowning of sorrow and 

But for wine and for welcome not more 
known to fame, [sweet lovely dame. 

Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a 

A bard was selected to witness the 
fray, [day; 

And tell future ages the feats of the 

A bard who detested all sadness and 
spleen, [had been. 

And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard 

The dinner being over, the claret they 

ply; [of joy; 

And every new cork is a new spring of 



t See Johnson s Tour to the Hebrides,— B. 



123 



BURNS' WORKS. 



In tlie bands of old friendsliip and kin- 
dred so set, [more tliey were wet. 
And tlie bands grew the tighter the 

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran 
o'er: [ous a core, 

Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joy- 

And vow'd that to leave them he was 
quite forlorn, [morn. 

Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next 

Six bottle apiece had well wore out the 
night, [fight. 

When gallant Sir Robert to finish the 

Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of 
red, [ancestors did. 

And swore 'twas the way that their 

Then worthy Grlenriddel, so cautioiis 
and sage, [wage: 

No longer the warfare, ungodly, would 

A high ruling-elder to wallow in wine! 

He left the foul business to folks less 
divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to 
the end; [bumpers contend ? 

But who can with Fate and quart- 

Though Fate said — A hero shall perish 
in light; [fell the knight. 

So up rose bright Phcebus — and down 

Next up rose our bard, like a prophet 
in drink: [tion shall sink ! 

" Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when crea- 

But if thou wouldst flourish immortal 
in rhyme, [the sublime! 

Come — one bottle more — and have at 

" Thy line, that have struggled for 

freedom with Bruce, 
Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : 
So tlune be the laurel, and mine be the 

bay; [god of day!" 

The field thou hast won, by yon bright 



VERSES 

ON CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRINATIONS 
THROUGH SCOTLAND, COLLECTING 
THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KING- 
DOM. 

Captain Grose, the hero of this poem, author 
of a work on the Antiquities of Scotland, 
was an enthusiastic antiquary, fond of good 
wine and good company. Burns met him 
at the hospitable table of Captain Riddel of 



Friars' Carse. He died in Dublin, of an 
apoplectic fit, in 1791, in the S2d year of his 
age. 

Hear, Land o' Cakes, and brithcr 

Scots, 
Frae Maidenkirk* to Johnny Groat's; 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede you tent^ it; 
A chiel's amang you takin' notes, 

And, faith, he'll prent it! 

If in your bounds you chance to light 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel^ wight, 
0' stature short, but genius bright. 

That's he, mark weel — 
And wow ! he has an unco slight 

O' cauk and keel, f 

By some auld, houlet-haunted biggin'. f 

Or kirk deserted by its riggin', 

It's ten to ane ye'll find him snug in 

Some eldritch^ part, 
Wi' deils, they say, Lord save's ! col- 
leaguiu' 

At some black art. 

Ilk ghaist that haunts auld ha' or chau- 

mer. 
Ye gipsy gang that deal in glamour,^ 
And you, deep read in hell's black 
grammar, 

Warlocks and vdtches; 
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, 
Ye midnight 'uitches 1 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred. 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled; 
But now he's quat the spurtle-blade 

And dog-skin wallet. 
And ta'en — the antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

He has a fouth^ o' auld nick-nackets. 
Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets,t^ 
Wad haud the Lotliians three in tacketg 

A towmond guid; [ets, 
And parritch-pats, and auld saut-back- 

Afore the flood. 



1 Heed. 2 piump. 3 Unholy. « Black art. 
* Abundance. 

* An inversion of the name of Kirkmaiden, 
in Wigtonshire, the most southerly parish in 
Scotland. 

t Alluding to his powers as a draughtsman. 

$ See his " Antiquities of Scotland." — B. 

§ See his " Treatise on Ancient Armour and 
Weapons." — B. 



POEMS. 



123 



Of Eve's first fire lie lias a cinder; 
Auld Tubal Cain's lire-sliool and fender; 
That wliicli distinguised the gender 

O' Balaam's ass; 
A broomstick o' the witch o' Endor, 

Weel shod wi' brass. 

Forbye he'll shape you aff, fu' gleg,^ 
The cut of Adam's pliilabeg: 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig^ 

He'll prove you fully. 
It was a faulding jocteleg, 

Or laug-kaii gully. 

But wad ye see him in his glee. 
For meikle glee and fun has lie. 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Guid fellov/s wi' him; 
And port, O port ! shine thou a wee, 

And then ye'll see him ! 

Nov/, by the powers o' verse and prose! 
, Thou art a dainty cliiel, Grose ! — 
I Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 
They sair misca' thee; 
I'd take the rascal by the nose, 

Wad say, Bliame fa' thee! 



LINES WRITTEN IN A WRAPPER, 

ENCLOSING A LETTER TO C^VPTAIN 

GROSE. 

Burns having undertaken to gather some 
antiquarian and legendary material as to the 
ruins in Kyle, in sending them to Captain 
Grose under cover to Mr. Cardonnel, a bro- 
ther antiquary, the following verses, in imi- 
tation of the ancient ballad of " Sir John 
Malcolm," were enclosed. Cardonnel read 
them everywhere, much to the captain's 
annoyance, and to the amusement of his 
friends. 

Ken ye ought o' Captain Grose ? 

Igo and ago. 
If he's amang his friends or foes ? 

Irani, coram, dago. 

Is he south, or is he north ? 

Igo and ago, 
Or drowned in the river Forth ? 

Irani, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highlan' bodies? 

Igo and ago, 
And eaten like a wether-haggis ? 

Irani, coram, dago. 



6 Full quickly. ' TlirsaU 



Is he to Abra'm's bosom gane ! 

Igo and ago, 
Or liaudin' Sarah by the wanie '? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near him I 

Igo and ago. 
As for the deil, he daurna steer him 1 

Iram, coram, dago. 

But please transmit the enclosed letter, 

Igo and ago. 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Igo and ago. 
The very stanes that Adam bore, 

Iram, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession, 

Igo and ago, 
The coins o' Satan's coronation ! 

Iram, coram, dago. 



SKETCH— NEW YEAR'S DAY, 
[1790.] 

TO MRS. DUNLOP. 

On the original MS. of these lines, the poet 
writes as follows: — " On second thoughts I 
send you this extempore blotted sketch. It 
is just the first random scrawl ; but if you 
think the piece worth while, I shall retouch 
it, and finish it. Though I have no copy of 
it, my memory serves me." 

This day. Time winds the exhausted 

chain, 
To run the twelvemonth's length again; 
I see the old, bald-pated fellow, 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow. 
Adjust the unimpair'd machine, 
To wheel the equal, dull routine. 

The absent lover, minor heir 
In vain assail him with their prayer; 
Deaf, as my friend, he sees them press. 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Major's* with the 

hounds, 
The happy tenants share his rounds; 
Coila's fair Racliel'sf care to-day, 



* Major, afterwards General, Andrew Dun- 
lop, Mrs. Dunlop's second son. 

t Miss Rachel Dunlop, who afterwards 
married Robert Glasgow, Esq. 



124 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And bloommg Keitli's | engaged with 
Gray) [row — 

From housewife cares a minute bor 
That grandchild's cap will do to-mor- 
row — 
And join with me a-moralising, 
This day's propitious to be wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver ? 
" Another year is gone forever!" 
And what is this day's strong sugges- 
tion? [on!" 
"The passing moment's all we rest 
Rest on — for what ? what do we here ? 
Or why regard the passing year? [lore? 
Will Time, amused with proverb'd 
Add to our date one minute more ? 
A few days may — a few years must — 
Repose us in the silent dust, 
Then is it wise to damp our bliss ? 
Yes — all such reasonings are amiss! 
The voice of Nature loudly cries, 
And many a message from the skies, 
That something in us never dies: 
That on this frail, uncertain state, 
Hang matters of eternal weight: 
That future life, in worlds unknown, 
Must take its hue from this alone; 
Whether as heavenly glory bright, 
Or dark as Misery's woful night 

Since, then, my honour'd, first of 

friends, 
On this poor being all depends. 
Let us the important now employ. 
And live as those who never die. 

Though you, with days and honours 

crown'd. 
Witness that filial circle round, 
(A sight, life's sorrows to repulse, 
A sight, pale Envy to convulse), 
Others now claim your chief regard; 
Yourself, you wait your bright reward. 



PROLOGUE, 

SPOKEN AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES 

ON NEW year's day EVENING, 

[1790.] 

Burns, writing to his brother Gilbert, says :— 
"We have gotten a set of very decent 
players here just now: 1 have seen them an 



% Miss Keith Dunlop, the youngest daughter. 



evening or two. David Campbell, in Ayr. 
wrote to me by the manager of the company, 
a Mr. Sutherland, who is a man of apparent 
worth. On New Year's Day 1 gave him the 
following prologue, which he spouted to his 
audience with applause :" — 

No song nor dance I bring from yon 
great city [more's the pity: 

That queens it o'er our taste — the 
Though, by-the-by, abroad why will 
you roam ? [at hoir.e. 

Good sense and taste are natives 8.iat[ 
But not for panegyric I appear, 
I come to wish you all a good new year ^ 
Old Father Time deputes me here be- 
fo"e ye, [story. 

Not for to preach, but tell his simple 
The sage grave ancient cough'd, anc 
bade me say, \_^^7- " 

" You're one year older this important 
If wiser, too — he hinted some sugges- 
tion, [the question; 
But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask 
And with a would-be rougish leer and 
wink, [word — " Think!" 
lie bade me on you press this one 

Ye sprightly youths, quite flush'd with 

hope and spirit, [of m.erit, 

Who think to storm the v.^orld by dint 
To you the dotard has a deal to say. 
In his sly, dry, sententious, proverb 

way! [less rattle. 

He bids you mind, amid your thought- 
That the first blow is ever half the 

battle; [to snatch him. 

That though some by the skirt may try 
Yet by the forelock is the hold to catch 

him ; [bearing. 

That whether doing, suffering, or for- 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last, though not least in love, ye faith- 
ful fair, [care I 
Angelic forms, high Hea-s en's peculiar 
To you old I3ald-pat<a smoothes hi."i 
wrinkled brow, [portant Now I 
And humbly begs you'll mind the im- 
To crown your happiness he asks your 

leave. 
And offers bliss to give and to receive. 

For our sincere, though liaply weak, 

endeavours. 
With grateful pride we own your 

many favours; 



POEMS. 



1S5 



And howsoe'er our tongues may ill re- 
veal it, [it- 
Believe our glovsring bosoms truly feel 



TO THE OWL. 

This poem was originally printed, from a MS. 
in the poet's handwriting, by Cromek, who 
threw some doubts on its being written by 
Burns. But as the MS. copy showed occa- 
sional interlineations in the same hand, 
there can be little doubt, we presume, as to 
its authenticity. 

Sad bird of night, what sorrows call 

thee forth, [night hour ? 

To vent thy plaints thus in the mid- 

Is it some blast that gathers in the 

north, [bower ? 

Threatening to nip the verdure of thy 

Is it, sad owl, that Autumn strips the 
shade, [forlorn ? 

And leaves thee here, unshelter'd and 
Or fear that Winter will thy nest in- 
vade ? [mourn ? 
Or friendless melancholy bids thee 

Shut out, lone bird, from all the 
feather'd train, [ing gloom; 

To tell thy sorrows to the unheed- 
No friend to pity when thou dost com- 
plain, [thy home. 
Grief all thy thought, and solitude 

Sing on, sad mourner ! I will bless thy 

strain, [song: 

And pleased in sorrow listen to thy 

Sing on, sad mourner; to the night 

complain, [along. 

While the lone echo wafts thy notes 

Is beauty less, when down the glowing 

cheek [fall ? 

Sad, piteous tears, in native sorrows 

Less Idnd the heart when anguish bids 

it break? [call ? 

Less happy lie who lists to pity's 

Ah no, sad owl! nor is thy voice less 

sweet, [is there ; 

That sadness tunes it, and that grief 

That Spring's gay notes, unskill'd, thou 

canst repeat; [repair. 

That sorrow bids thee to the gloom 



Nor that the treble songsters of the day 
Are quite estranged, sad bird of 
night ! from thee; [ing spray. 
Nor that the thrush deserts the even- 
When darkness calls thee from thy 
reverie. 

From some old tower, thy melancholy 

dome, [solitudes 

While the gray walls, and desert 

Return each note, responsive to the 

gloom [woods. 

Of ivied coverts and surrounding 

There hooting, I will list more pleased 

to thee 

Than ever lover to the nightingale; 

Or drooping wretch, oppress'd with 

misery, [tale. 

Lending his ear to some condoling 



VERSES 

ON AK EVENING VIEW OF THE KUINS 
OF LINCLUDEN ABBEY.* 

Ye holy walls, that, still sublime, 
Resist the crumbling touch of time ; 
How strongly still your form displays 
The piety of ancient days ! 
As through your ruins hoar and gray — • 
Ruins yet beauteous in decay — 
The silvery moonbeams trembling fly; 
The forms of ages long gone by 
Crowd thick on Fancy's wondering eye, 
And Avake the soul to musings high. 
Even now, as lost in thought profound, 
I view the solemn scene around, 
And, pensive, gaze with wistful eyes, 
The past returns, the present flies; 
Again the dome, in pristine pride. 
Lifts high its roof and arches wide. 
That, knit with curious tracery. 
Each Gothic ornament display. 
The high-arch'd windows, painted fair. 
Show many a saint and martyr there. 
As on their slender foiTns I gaze, 
Methinks they brighten to a blaze ! 
With noiseless step and taper bright. 
What are yon forms that meet my 
siffht ? 



* On the banks of the river Cluden, and at a 
short distance from Dumfries, are the beauti- 
ful ruins of the Abbey of Lincluden, which 
was founded in the time of Malcolm, the 
fourth King of Scotland. 



136 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Slowly they move, while every eye 
Is heavenward raised, in ecstasy. 
Tis the fair, spotless, vestal train. 
That seek in prayer the midnight fane. 
And, hark I what more than mortal 

sound 
Of music breathes the pile around ? 
' Tis the soft-chanted choral song, 
"Whose tones the echoing aisles prolong; 
Till, thence return'd, they softly stray 
O'er Cludin's wave, with fond delay; 
Now on the rising gale swell high. 
And now in fainting niurmurs die; 
The boatmen on Nith's gentle stream, 
That glistens m the pale mconbeam, 
Suspend their dashing oars to hear 
The holy anthem loud and clear; 
Each worldly thought a vvdiile forbear, 
And mutter forth a half-form'd prayer. 
But as I gaze, the vision fails, 
Like frost work touch'd by southern 

gales; 
The altar sinks, the tapers fade, 
And all the splendid scene's decay'd. 

In window fair the painted pane 
Ivo longer glows with holy stain, 
But through the broken glass the gale 
Blows chilly from the misty vale ; 
The bird of eve flits sullen by, 
lier home these aisles and arches high! 
The choral hymn, that erst so clear 
Broke softly sweet on Fancy's ear. 
Is drown'd amid the mournful scream 
That breaks the magic of my dream ! 
Roused by the sound, I start and see 
The ruiu'd sad reality ! 



PROLOGUE, 

rOR MH SUTHERLAND'S BENEFIT 
NIGHT, DUIvIFRIES. 

This prologue was accompanied with the fol- 
lowing letter to Mr. Sutherland, the man- 
ager of the Dumfries Theatre . — 

" Monday Morning. 

" I was much disappointed in wanting your 
most agreeable company yesterday- How- 
ever, I heartily pray for good weather next 
Sunday ; and whatever aerial being has the 
guidance of the elements, he may take any 
other half dozen of Sundays he pleases, and 
clothe them with 

Vapours, and clouds, and storms, 

Until he terrify himself 

At combustion of his own raising. 



I shall see you on Wednesday forenoon. In 
the greatest hurry.— R. B." 

What needs this din about the town 

■o' Lon'on, [is comin' i 

How this new play and that new sang 
Why is outlandish stuft" sae meikle' 

courted ? [imported ? 

Does nonsense mend like v/liisky,whcn 
Is there nae poet, burning keen for 

fame, [hame ? 

Will try to gie ns sangs and plays at 
For comedy abroad he ueedna toil, 
A fool and knave are plants of every 

soil ; [Greece 

Nor need he hunt as far as Rome and 
To gather matter for a serious piece ; 
There's themes enow in Caledonian 

story, [glory. 

Would show the tragic muse in a' her 

Is there no daring bard will rise and 
tell [less fell? 

How glorious Wallace stood, how hap- 
Where are the Muses lied that could 

produce 
A drama worthy o' the name o' Bruce ; 
How here, even here, he first un- 
sheath'd the sword, [lord ; 

'Gainst mighty England and her guilty 
And after mony a bloody, deathless do- 
ing, [jaws of ruin ? 
Wrench'd his dear country from the 
Oh for a Shalvespeare or an Otway 
scene [queen ! 
To d]'aw the lovely, hapless Scottish 
Vain all the omnipotence of female 
charms [hellion's arms. 
'Gainst headlong, ruthless, mad Re- 
She fell, but fell with spirit truly Ro- 
man, [woman. 
To glut the vengeance of a rival 
A woman — though the phrase may 

seem uncivil — 
As able and as cruel as the devil ! 

One Douglas lives in Home's immortal 

page, 
But Douglases were heroes every age : 
And though your fathers, prodigal of 

life, 
A Douglas followed to the martial strife, 
Perhaps if bowls row right, and Right 

succeeds, [leads ! 

Ye yet may follow where a Douglas 



J Much. 



POEMS. 



127 



As ye liae generous done, if a' tlie 

land [hand ; 

Would take the Muses' servants by the 
Not only hear, but patronise, befriend 

them, [commend them; 

And where ye justly can commend, 
And aiblins when they winna stand the 

test, [their best ! 

Wink hard and say the folks hae done 
Would a' the land do this, then I'll be 

caution [tion, 

Ye'll soon hae poets o' the Scottish na • 
Will gar Fame blaw until her trumpet 

crack, [back ! 

And warsle^ Time, and lay him on his 
For us and for our stage should ony 

spier, ^ [this bustle here f 

" Wha's aught thae chiels maks a' 
My best leg foremost, I'll set up my 

brow, 
We have the honour to belong to you ! 
We're your ain bairns, e'en guide us 

as ye lilie, [ye strike. 

But like good mithers, shore"' before 
And gratefu' still I hope ye'll ever find 

us, [ness 

For a' the patronage and meikle kiud- 
We've got frae a' professions, sets and 

ranlcs; [get but thanks. 

God help us ! we're but poor — ye'se 



STANZAS ON THE DUKE OF 

QUEENSBERRY. 

On being- questioned as to the propriety of 
satirising people unwortfiy of his notice, 
and the Duke of Queensberry being cited as 
an instance, Burns drew out his pencil and 
penned the following bitter Ihies as his re- 
ply .— 

How shall I sing Drumlanrig's Grace — 
Discarded remnant of a race 

Once great in martial story ? 
His forbears' virtues all contrasted — 
The very name of Douglas blasted — 

His that inverted glory. 

Hate, envy, oft the Douglas bore; 
But he has superadded more, 

And sunk them in contempt; 
Follies and crimes have stain'd the 
name; [claim, 

But, Queensberry, thine the virgin 

From aught that's good exempt. 



.* Wrestle. 3 Ask. * Threaten. 



VERSES TO MY BED. 
Thou bed, in which I first began 
To be that various creature — nmiif 
And when again the fates decree. 
The place where I must cease to be;— t 
When sickness comes, to whom I fly. 
To soothe my pain, or close mine eye;— 
When cares surround me where I weeji. 
Or lose them all in balmy sleep; — 
When sore with labour whom I court 
And to thy downy breast resort — 
Where, too, ecstatic joys I find. 
When deigns my Delia to be kind — 
And full of love in all her charms. 
Thou givest the fair one to my arms. 
The centre thou, where grief and pain. 
Disease and rest, alternate reign. 
Oh, since within thy little space 
So many various scenes take place; 
Lessons as useful shalt thou teach. 
As sages dictate — churchmen preach; 
And man convinced by thee alone. 
This great important truth shall own: — 
That thin partitions do divide 
The bounds where good and ill reside; 
That nought is perfect here belov/; 
But Miss still bordering upon icoe. 



ELEGY ON PEG NICHOLSON. 

Peg Nicholson, the "good bay mare," be- 
longed to IMr. William Nicol, a fast triend 
of the poet's, and was so named from a 
frantic virago who attempted the life of 
George III. The poet enclosed the follow- 
ing verses in a letter to his friend, in 
February, 1790, with a long account of tlie 
deceased mare, which letter will be found 
in the correspondence of that year. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare 

As ever trode on airn;^ 
But now she's floating down the Nith, 

And past the mouth o' Cairn. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
And rode through thick and thin ; 

But now she's floating down the Nith, 
And wanting even the skin. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
And ance she bore a priest; 

But now she's floating down the Nith, 
For Solway fish a feast. 

Peg Nicholson was a good bay mare, 
And the priest he rode her sair; [was 

And much oppress'd and bruised she 
As priest- rid cattle are. 



1 Iron, 



138 



BURNS' WORKS. 



LINES 

)miTTEN TO A GENTLEMAN WHO HAD 
SENT HIM A NEWSPAPER, AND OF- 
FERED TO CONTINUE IT FREE OF 
EXPENSE. 

Kind sir, I've read your paper through. 
And faith, to me 'twas really new ! [ted? 
How guess'd ye, sir, what maist I ^van- 
Vhis mony a day I've gran'd' and gauu- 

ted'^ [in', 

To ken what French mischief was brevv^- 
Or what the drumlie Dutch were do in'; 
That vile doup-skelper, Emperor 

Joseph, 
If Venus yet had got his nose ofi; 
Or how the coUieshangie^ works 
Atween the Russians and the Turks; 
Or if the Swede, before he halt, 
Would play anither Charles the Twalt: 
If Denmark, anybody spak o't; 
Or Poland, wha had now the tack* o't; 
How cut-throat Prussian blades were 

hingin' ;» 
How libbet^ Italy was singin' ; 
If Spaniards, Portuguese, or Swiss 
Were sayin' or takin' aught amiss : 
Or how our ixierry lads at hame. 
In Britain's court, kept up the game: 
How royal George, the Lord leuk o'er 

him ! 
Was managing St Stephens quorum; 
If sleekit' Chatham Will was livin'. 
Or glaikit^ Charlie got his nieve^ in; 
How Daddie Burke the plea was cook- 
in', [in';i« 
If Warren Hastings' neck was yeuk- 
How cesses, stents, and fees were 

rax'd,^! 
Or if bare a — s yet were tas'd; 
The news o' princes, dukes, and earls. 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera 

girls; 
If that daft buckie, Geordie Wales, 
Was threshin' still at hizzies' tails; 
Or if he was grown oughtlins douser,'"^ 
And no a perfect kintra cooser. 
A' this and mair I never heard of ; 
And but for you I might despair'd of. 

1 Groaned. ^ Yawned. ^ Quarrel. 

* Lease. ^ Hanging. * Castrated. ' Sly. 

• Thoughtless. » Fist. " Itching. 
** Stretched. '" At all more sober. 



So gratef u', back your news I send you, 
And pray, a' guid things may attend 

you! 
Ellisland, Monday Morning^ i79o. 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW 
HENDERSON, 

A GENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PAT- 
ENT FOR HIS HONOURS IMMEDIATE- 
LY FROM ALMIGHTY GOD. 

The following note was appended to the 
original MS. of the Elegy:—" Now that you 
are over with the sirens of flattery, the har- 
pies of corruption, and the furies of ambi- 
tion—those infernal deities that, on all sides 
and in all parties, preside over the villain- 
ous business of politics — permit a rustic 
muse of your acquaintance to do her best to 
soothe you with a song. You knew Hender- 
son. I have not flattered his memory." 

In a letter to Dr. Moore, dated February 1791, 
the poet says :— " The Elegy on Captain 
Henderson is a tribute to the memory of a 
man I loved much. Poets have in this the 
same advantage as Roman Cathciics ; they 
can be of service to their friends after they 
have passed that bourne where all other 
Idndness ceases to be of any avail. Whether, 
after ail, either the one or the other be of 
any real service to the dead is, I fear, very 
problematical ; but I am sure they are high- 
ly gratifying to the living. Captain Hender- 
son was a retired soldier, of agreeable man- 
ners and upright character, who had a lodg- 
ing in Carrubber's Close, Edinburgh, and 
mingled with the best society of the city ; 
he dined regularly at Fortune's Tavern, 
and was a member of the Capillaire Club, 
which was composed of all who inclined to 
the v/ittyand the joyous." 

" Should the poor be flattered ?" 

— Sh.^kespe.vre. 

But now his radiant course is run, 
For Matthew's course was bright ; 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 
A matchless heavenly light ! 

O Death ! thou tyrant fell and bloody! 
The meikle devil wi' a woodie^ 
liaurl- thee hame to his black smiddie,* 

O'er hurcheon' hides. 
And lilie stock-fish come o'er his stud« 
die* 

Wi' thy auld sides ! 

He's gane ! he's gane ! he's frae us 

torn ! 
The ae best fellow e'er was born I 



1 Halter. ^ Drag. ' Hedgehog. •* Anvil. 

* Sniiddie^ a blacksmith's shop — hence the 
appropriateness of its use in the present in- 
stance. 



POEMS. 



129 



Tliee, Matthew, Nature's sel shall 
mourn 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exiled ! 

Ye hills ! near neibors o' the starns,* 
That proudly cock your cresting cair ns ! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns,"* 

Where Echo slumbers ! 
Come join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns. 

My wailing numbers ! 

Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens !' 
Ye hazelly sliaws and briery dens ! 
Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin' din,f 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens,^ 

Frae lin to lin ! 

Mourn, little harebells o'er the lea; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see ; 
Ye woodbines, hanging bonnilie 

In scented bowers; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree. 

The first o' flowers. 

At dawn, when every grassy blade 
Droops with a diamond at its head. 
At even, when beans their fragrance 
shed, 

F the rustling gale. 
Ye maukins whiddin'^ through the 



Come, join my wail. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' the wood; 
Ye grouse that crap'** the heather bud; 
Ye curlews calling through a clud;'' 

Ye whistling plover; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick'^ 
brood! — 

He's gane forever. 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals; 
Ye fisher herons, watching eels; 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels 

Circling the lake; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Kair | for his sake. 



* Stars. •• Eaffles. '' Wood-pig'eon knows. 

* Bounds. 9 Hares running, i" Crop, eat. 
J' Cloud. 12 Partridge. 

t With the noise of one who goes hesitat- 
ingly or insecurely. 

t We can hardly convey the meaning here ; 
but we know of no better word. 



Mourn, clam'ring craiks^^ at close o' 

day, 
'Mang fields o' flowering clover gay; 
And when ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore. 
Tell thae far warlds wlia lies in clay, 
Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets," frae your ivy bower. 
In some auld tree or eldritch^^ tower. 
What time the moon, wi' silent glow- 
er, '« 

Sets up her horn. 
Wail through the dreary midnight hour 
Till waukrife" morn ! 

rivers, forests, hills, and plains ! 
Oft have ye heard my canty^* strains: 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of woe ? 
And frae my een the drapping rains 

Maun ever flow. 

Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the 

year ! 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep^' a tear: 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head. 
Thy gay, green, flowery tresses shear 

For him that's dead 1 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief thy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling through the aix 

The roaring blast. 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost ! 

Mourn him, thou Sun, great source of 

light ! 
Mourn, empress of the silent night ! 
And you, ye tmnkling starnies bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For through your orbs he's ta'en his 
flight. 

Ne'er to return. 

Henderson ! the man — the brother I 
And art thou gone, and gone forever ? 
And hast thou cross'd that unknown 
river. 

Life's dreary bound ? 
Like thee, where shall I find another 

The world around ! 



" Landrails. " Owls. ^^ Haunted, i" Stara 
1' Vvalcening. ^"^ Happy. '" Catsh, 



130 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Go to your sculptured tombs,ye great. 
In a' tlie tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait, 

Thou man of worth ! 
And v/eep the ae best fellow's fate 

E'er lay in earth. 



THE EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger ! — my story's brief. 
And truth I shall relate,man; 

I tell nae common tale o' grief — 
For Matthew was a great man. 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 
Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, man, 

A look of pity hither cast — 
For Matthew was a poor man. 

If thou a noble sodger art, 

That passest b}^ this grave, man. 

There moulders here a gallant heart — 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and ways. 
Canst throw uncommon light, man, 

Here lies wha weel had won thy 
praise — 
For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man, 

The sympathetic tear maun fa' — 
For Matthew was a kind man ! 

If thou art stanch without a stain, 
Like the unchanging blue, man, 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain — 
For Matthew was a true man. 

If thou hast wit, and fun, and fire. 
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man, 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire — 
For Matthew was a queer man. 

If ony wliiggish whingin' sot, 

To blame poor Mattliew dare, man. 

May dool and sorrow be his lot ! — 
For Matthew was a rare man. 



TAM 0' SHANTER: 

A TALE. 

Captain Grose, in the introduction to his 
" Antiquities of Scotland, " says, " To ray 
ingenious friend, Mr. Robert Burns, I have 
been seriously obligated ; he was not only 



at the pains of making out what was most 
worthy of notice in Ayrshire, the country 
honoured by his birth, but he also wrote, 
expressly for this work, the pretty tale 
annexed to Alloway Church." This pretty 
tale was " Tam o' Shanter," certainly the 
most popular of all our poet's works. 

In a letter to Captain Grose, No. CCXXVII. 
of the General Correspondence, Burns gives 
the legend which formed the groundwork 
of the poem : — "■ On a market dry in the 
town of Ayr, a farmer from Carrxk, and 
consequently whose way laid by the very 
gate of Alloway kirkyard, in order to cross 
the river Doon at the old bridge, which is 
about two or three hundred yards farther on 
than the said gate, had been detained by his 
business, till by the time he reached Allo- 
way it was the wizard hour, between night 
and morning. Though he was terrified 
with a blaze streaming from the kirk, yet it 
is a well-known fact that to turn back on 
these occasions is running by far the great- 
est risk of mischief, — he prudently advan- 
ced on his road. When he had reached the 
gate of the kirkyard, he was surprised and 
entertained, through the ribs and arches of 
an old Gothic window, which still faces the 
highway, to see a dance of witches merrily 
footing it round their old sooty blackguard 
master, who was keeping them all alive 
with the power of his bagpipe. The farmer, 
stopping his horse to observe them a little, 
could plainly descry the faces of many old 
women of his acquaintance and neighbour- 
hood. How the g.entleman was dressed tra 
dition does not say, but that the ladies were 
all in their smocks : and one of them happen- 
ing unluckily to have a smock which was 
considerably too short to answer all the 
purpose of that piece of dress, our farmei! 
was so tickled that he involuntarily burst 
out, with a loud laugh, ' Weel luppen, 
Maggie wi' the short sark!' and, recollect 
ing himself, instantly spurred his horse to 
the top of his speed. I need not mention 
the universally-known fact that no diaboli- 
cal power can pursue -^om beyond the 
middle of a running stream. Lucky it was 
for the poor farmer that the river Doon was 
so near, for notwithstanding the speed of his 
horse, which was a good one, against he 
reached the middle of the arch of the bridge, 
and consequently the middle of the streana, 
the pursuing, vengeful hags, were so close 
at his heels Ihat one of theni actually sprung 
to seize him ; but it was too late, nothing 
was on her side of the stream but the horse's 
tail, which immediately gave way at her in- 
fernal grip, as if blasted by a stroke of 
lightning ; but the farmer was beyond her 
reach. However, the unsightly, tailless 
condition of the vigorous steed was, to the 
last hour of the noble creature's life, an 
awful warning to the Carrick farmers not to 
stay too late in Ayr markets." 
Douglas Grahame of Shanter, a farmer aa the 
Carrick shore, who was in reality the drunk- 
en, careless being the poet depicts him, 
became the hero of the legend, and several 
ludicrous stories current about him were 
woven into it with admirable skill. It is re- 
ported of him that one market day being ia 



POEMS. 



131 



Ayr he had tied his mare by tlie bridle to a 
ring at the door of a public house, and while 
he was making himself happy with some 
cronies inside, the idle boys of the neigh- 
bourhood pulled all the hair out of the 
mare's tail. This was not noticed until the 
following morning, when, becoming bewil- 
dered as to the cause of the accident, he 
could only refer it to the agency of witch- 
craft. It is further related of Grahame that 
when a debauch had been prolonged until 
the dread of the " sulky sullen dame " at 
home rose up before him, he would frequent- 
ly continue drinking rather than face her, 
even although delay would add to the 
terrors of the inevitable home-going. 
The poem was composed in one day in the 
winter of 1790. Mrs. Burns informed Cro- 
mek that the poet had li ngered longer by the 
river side than his wont, and that taking 
the children with her, she went out to join 
him, but perceiving that her presence was 
an interruption to him, she lingered behind 
him : her attention was attracted by his 
wild gesticulations and ungovernable mirth, 
Avhile he was reciting the passages of the 
poem as they arose m his mind. 

" Of brownyis and of bogilis full is this buke." 
— G.WVIN DouGL.-\s. 

Whets' cliapman billies' leave tL.e 

street, 
Aiid droutliy^ neibors neibors meet, 
As market days are wearin' late, 
And folk begin to tak the gate;^ 
While we sit bousing at the nappy,^ 
And gettin' fou and unco happy, 
We tliink na on the lang Scots miles, 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and stiles,^ 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gathering her brows like gathering 

storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tarn o' Shanter, 
As he f'rae Ayr ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town sur- 
passes 
For honest men and bonny lasses.) 

Tam ! liadst thou but been sae wise 
As ta'en thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
She tauld thee weel thou wast a skel- 
lum,« [blellum;' 

A blethering, blustering, drunken 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market day thou wasna sober; 



1 Fellows. 2 Thirsty. 3 Road. ■» Ale. 
° Breaches in hedges or walls. « A worthless 
fellow. ' A talker of nonsense, a boaster, 
and a drunken fool. 



That ilka melder,* wi' the miller 
Thou sat as lang as thou hadst siller;^ 
That every naig^ was ca'd a shoe on. 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on; 
That at the Lord's house, even on Sun- 
day, [Monday, 
Thou dranlt wi' Kirktonf Jean till 
She prophesied that, late or soon, 
Thou woitldst be found deep drown'd 

in Doon 1 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks i' the mirk,'*' 
By AUoway's auld haunted kirk. 

Ah, gentle dames ! it gars" me greet 
To think how mony counsels sweet. 
How mony lengthen'd sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises! 

But to our tale- — Ae market night, 
Tam had got planted unco'^ right, 
Fast by an ingle, '^ bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats," that drank di- 
vinely; 
And at his elbow Souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouthy'^ crony; 
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither — 
They had been fou for weeks thegither ! 
The night they drave on wi' sangs and 

clatter, 
And aj^e the ale was growing better: 
The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
Wi' favours secret, sweet, and pre- 
cious; 
The Souter tauld his queerest stories. 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: 
The storm without might rair"" and 

rustle — 
Tam didna mind the storm a whistle. 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy. 
E'en drown'd himsel araang the nappy! 
As bees flee hame wi' lades" o' treasure. 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' 
pleasure; [glorious. 

Kings may be blest, but Tam was 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious ! 



8 Money. » Horse. " Dark. " Makes. 
'2 Unusually. " Fire. '* Foaming ale. 
15 Thirsty. i« Roar " Loads. 

* Any quantity of corn sent to the mill is 
called a melder. 

t The village where a parish church is situa- 
ted is usually called the Kirkton (Kirk-town) 
in Scotland.' A certain Jean Kennedy, v/ho 
kept a reputable public house in ihe village of 
Kirkoswald, is here alluded to. 



132 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But pleasures are like poppies spread. 
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed! 
Or like the snowfall in the river, 
A moment white — then melts forever; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place; 
Or lilce the rainbow's lovely form, 
Evanishing amid the storm. 
Nae man can tether"* time or tide; 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride, 
That hour, o' night's black arch the 
keystane, [in; 

That dreary hour he mounts his beast 
And sic'^ a night he taks the road in 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wmd blew as 'twad blawn its last ; 
The rattling showers rose on the blast. 
The speedy gleams the darkness swal- 
low'd; [low'd 

Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bel 
That night, a child might understand 
The dell had business on his hand. 

Weel mounted on his gray mare, Meg, 
A better never lifted leg, [mire, 

Tam skelpit'-** on through dub and 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire; 
Whiles holding fast his guid blue bon- 
net, 
Whiles crooning"' o'er some auld Scots 
sonnet; [cares. 

Whiles glowering'-'- round wi' prudent 
Lest bogles'-'^ catch him unawares. 
Kirk Alio way was drawing nigh, [cry. 
Whare ghaists and houlets-'* nightly 

By this time he was 'cross the foord, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman 

smoor'd ;'-' 
And past the birks and meikle stane 
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck- 
bane: [cairn-^ 
And through the whins, and by the 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd 

bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. 
Before him Doon pours a' his floods; 
The doubling storm roars through the 

Avoods; 
The lightnings flash frae pole to pole; 



18 Tie up. " Such. "" Rode with careless 
speed. ^' Humming. ^^ Staring. ^^ Spirits. 
*' Ghosts and ov/ls. ^^ Pedlar was smothered. 
26 Stone-heap. 



Near and more near the thunders roll; 

When, glimmering through the groan- 
ing trees, 

Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; 

Through ilka bore^'' the beams were 
glancing, [ing. 

And loud resounded mirth and danc- 

Inspiring bold John Barleycorn ! 
V^^hat dangers thou canst mak us scoml 
Wi' tippenny,'^** we fear nae evil; 
Wi' usquebae,-^ we'll face the devil ! — 
The swat sae ream'd in Tammie's nod- 
dle, »» 
Fair play, he cared na deils a boddle.^* 
But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, 
Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd. 
She ventured forward on the light, 
And, wow ! Tam saw an itnco sight ! 
Warlocks and witches in a dance; 
Nae cotillon brent-new^'^ frae France; 
But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and 

reels. 
Put life and mettle i' their heels : 
At winnock- bunker, ^^ i' the east. 
There sat aiald Nick, in shape o' beast; 
A towzie tyke,'^'* black, grim, and 

large. 
To gie them music was his charge' 
lie screw'd the pipes, and gart"^ them 

skirl, S5 
Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.^' 
Coffins stood round, like open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last 

dresses , 
And by some devilish cantrip'^ slight 
Each in its cauld hand held a light, — 
By which heroic Tam was able, 
To note upon the haly table, 
A murderer's banes in gibbet aims;^' 
Twa span lang, wee,*** unchristen'd 

bairns; 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab**' did gape; 
Five tomahawks wi' bluid red-rusted; 
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; 
A garter, which a babe had strangled; 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled. 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft, 



2'' Every hole in the wall. ^^ Twopenny ale. 
*» Whisky, so The ale sc wrought in Tam- 
mie's head, s* A small coin. ^^ Brand-new. 
32 A kind of window seat. ^^ A rough dog. 
3^ Made. '« Scream. " Vibrate, ^s Spell. 
3" Irons. " Small. ■*' Mouth. 



POEMS. 



133 



The gray liairs yet stack to the lieft:^^ 

Wi' mair o' horrible and awfu', 
Which even to name wad be unlawf u'. 

As Tammie glower'd,*^ amazed and 
curious, [ous: 

The mirth and fun grew fast and furi- 
The piper loud and louder blew, 
The dancers quick and quicker Hew; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, 

they cleekit, 
Till illca carlin swat and reekit,** 
And coost-*" her duddies^^ to the wark. 
And linliet*' at it in her sark.^^ 

Mow Tarn ! O Tarn ! had thae been 

queans,"*^ 
A' plump and strappin' in their teens. 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flan- 

nen,^" [linen ! § 

Been snaw- white seventeen - hunder 
Thir breeks^^ o' mine, my only pair. 
That ance were plush, o' guid blue 

hair, 
I wad hae gien them aff my hurdles, ^- 
For ae blink=" o' the bonny burdies !^* 

Bat wither'd beldams, auld, and droll, 
Rigwoodie" hags, wad speau^^ a foal, 
Lowpin' and flingin' on a cummock," 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tam kenn'd^^ what was what fu' 

brawlie,'^ [walie,"^° || 

' ' There was ae winsome wench and 



4« Handle. " Stared. " Till each old 
beldam smoked with sweat. *° Stript- '"' 
Clothes. 47 Tripped. " shirt. ^^ Young 

firls. s" Greasv flannel, ^i These breeches. 
'HamS' *^ L'ook. ^^ Lasses, ^s Gallows- 
worthy. *^Wean. ^''Jumpinsr and capering- 
on a staff. ^8 Knew. "^ Full well. «" A 
hearty girl and jolly. 

t The following four lines were, in the 
original MS., in tliis place :— 

Three lawyers' tongues tum'd inside out, 
Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout :' 
And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck, 
Lay Slinking, vile, in every neuk." 

The poet omitted them at the suggestion of 
Mr. Tyiler of Woodhouselee. 

'■ Rags. * Corner. 

§ The manufacturers' term for a fine linen 
Woven in a reed of 1700 divisions.— ^Cromek. 

II Allan Runsay. 



That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore; 
For mony a beast to dead she shot. 
And perish'd mony a bonny boat. 
And shook baith meikle corn and bear. 
And kept the country side in fear.) 
Her cutty sark,''' o' Paisley harn. 
That, while a lassie,®'^ she had worn. 
In longitude though sorely scanty. 
It was her best, and she was vauntie.^^ 

Ah ! little kenn'd thy reverend grannie. 
That sark she coft''^ for her wee Nan- 
nie, [riches,) 
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her 
Wad ever graced a dance o' witches ! 

But here my Muse her wing maun 

cour,''^ 
Sic flights are far beyond her power; 
To sing how Nannie lap and flang,^^ 
(A souple jade^^ she was and Strang,*^) 
And how Tam stood, like ane be- 

witch'd, 
And thought his very een enrich'd; 
Even Satan glower'd, and fidged fu' 

fam, [and main: 

And hotched'd^'' and blew wi' might 
Till first ae caper, sjme'"' anither, 
Tam tinf^ his reason a' thegither, 
And roars out, " Weel done, Cutty- 

sark !" 
And in an instant a' was dark: 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
"S-Vlien out the hellish legion sallied. 1 
As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke,'^ 
When plundering herds assail their 

byke,''^ 
As open pussie's mortal foes, [nose; 
When, pop ! she starts before their 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When "Catch the thief!" resounds 

aloud ; 
So Maggie runs, the witches follow, 
Wi' nu'ny an eldritch''* screecii and 

hollow. 

Ah, Tam ! ah, Tam ! thou'lt get thy 

f airin' F^ 
In hell they'll roast thee like aherrin'! 
In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin' ! 

«i Short shirt. 62 Girl. 63 Proud of it. '* 
Fought. *= Lower, ^e jumped and kicked, 
«' Girl. 68 Strong. 69 Hitche-i. '» Then. 
'1 Lost. " Fuss. 1^ Hive. '* Uneanhlj. 
'^ Deacrts. 



134 



BURNS' WORKS. 



I Kate soon will be a wofu' woman! 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Meg, 
And win tlie keystane^ of tlie brig; 
There at them thou thy tail may toss, 
A running stream they darena cross; 
But ere the keystane she could make 
The fienf"* a tail she had to shake ! 
For Nannie, far before the rest, 
Hard upon noble Maggie prest, 
And flew at Tarn wi' furious ettle;"' 
But little wisf^ she Maggie's mettle — 
Ae spring brought off her master hale, 
But left behind her ain gray tail; 
The carlin claught her by the rump. 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump. 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read. 
Ilk''* man and mother's son, take heed: 
Whane'er to drink you are inclined. 
Or Cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think ! ye may buy the joys owre 

dear — 
Eemember Tarn o' Shanier's mare. 



ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHU- 
MOUS CHILD, 

BOKN IN PECXn^IAR CIRCUMSTANCES OF 
FAMILY DISTRESS. 

The mother of the child was Miss Susan Dun- 
lop, daughter of Burns' friend, Mrs. Dunlop. 
She had married a French gentleman of 
birth and fortune, named Henri, who died 
prematurely. Some time afterwards, Mrs. 
Henri went to the south of France, where 
she died, leaving her child exposed to all 
the dangers of the revolutionary excesses. 
He was carefully tended by an old domestic 
of the family's, and restored to his friends 
when the tranquillity of the country v/as 
secured. 

Sweet floweret, pledge o' meiklelove, 
And ward o' mony a prayer; [move, 

■Wliat heart o' stane would thou na 
Sae helpless, sweet, and fair ! 

November hirples' o'er the lea. 
Chill on thy lovely form; 



" Ne'er. " Design. ^» Knew. '» Each. 
J Moves slowly. 

^ It is a well-known fact that witches, or 
any evil spirits, have no power to follow a 
poor wight any farther than the middle of the 
next running stream. It may be proper like- 
wise to mention to the benighted traveller 
that, when he falls in with iogles, whatever 
danger may be in his going forward, there is 
much more hazard in turning back,— B. 



And gane, alas ! the sheltering tree 
Should shield thee from the storm. 

May He who gives the rain to pour, 
And wings tiie blast to blaw. 

Protect the frae the driving shower. 
The bitter frost and snaw ! 

May He, the friend of woe and want. 
Who heals life's various stounds,'-' 

Protect and guard the mother-plant, 
And heal her cruel wounds ! 

But late she flourish 'd, rooted fast. 
Fair on the summer's morn: 

Nov/ feebly bends she in the blast, 
Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem. 
Unscathed by ruifian hand ! 

And from thee many a parent stem. 
Arise to deck our land ! 



ELEGY ON MISS BURNET OF 
MONBODDO. 

Miss Burnet v/as the daughter of the accom- 
plished and eccentric Lord Monboddo. She 
is alluded to in the "Address to Edin- 
burgh," (p. lOI.) 

Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye. 
Heaven's beauties on my fancy shine ; 

I see the Sire of Love on high. 
And own His work indeed divine. 

She was one of the most beautiful women 
of her time, and died of consumption in the 
twenty-third year of her age. 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 
As Burnet, lovely froni her native 

skies ; [blov/. 

Nor envious Death so triumph'd in a 
As that which laid th' accomplish'd 

Burnet low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I 

forget ? 
In richest ore the brightest jewel set ! 
In thee, high Heaven above was truest 

shown, [best is known. 

As by His noblest work the Godhead 

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride , ye 

groves; [flowery shore. 

Thou crystal streamlet with thy 

Ye woodland choir that chant your idle 

loves. 

Ye cease to charm — Eliza is no more! 

^ Pangs. 



POEMS. 



135 



Ye heathy wastes, iminix'd with reedy 

fens; [rushes stored, 

Ye mossy streams, with sedge and 

Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary 

crl(->ns. 

To you I fiy, ye with my soul accord. 

Princes, whose cumbrous pride was all 

their worth, [hail ? 

Shall venal lays their pompous exit 

And thou, sweet excellence ! forsake 

our earth, [wail 'i 

And not a Muse in honest grief be- 

We saw thee shine in youth and beau • 

ty's pride, [yond the spheres ; 

And virtue's light, that beams be- 

But, like the sun eclipsed at morning 

tide, [of tears 

Thou left'st us darkling in a world 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in 

thee, [and care 

That heart how sunk, a prey to grief 

So deckt the woodbine sweet yon aged 

tree; [and bare. 

So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak 



LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF 
SCOTS, ON THE APPROACH OF 

SPRING. 

This poem is said to have been written at the 
instigation of Lady Winifred Maxwell Con- 
stable, daughter of William Maxwell, Earl 
of Nithsdale. who rewarded him with a 
present of a valuable snuff-box, having a 
portrait of Queen Mary on the lid. In a let- 
ter to Graham of Fintry. enclosing a copy of 
" The Lament," the poet says •, — '' Whether 
it IS that the story of our Mary Queen of 
Scots has a peculiar effect on the feelings of 
a poet, or whether I have, in the enclosed 
ballad, succeeded beyond my usual poetic 
success, 1 know not, but it has pleased me 
beyond any effort of my Muse for a good 
while past. 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On every blooming tree, 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Out o'er the grassy lea: 
Now Phoebus cheers the crystal 
streams. 

And glads the azure skies; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

Now la* focka wake the merry mom, 
Aloft on dewy wing; 



The merle, in his noontide boAver, 
Makes woodland echoes ring; 

The mavis wild, wi' mony a note.l 
Sings drowsy day to rest; 

In love and freedom thev reioicft. 
Wi' care or thrall opprest. 

Now blooms the lily by the banit. 

The primrose down the brae; 
The hawthorn's budding in the glen, 

And milk-white is the slae; 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove their sweets amang; 
But, I, the queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang I 

I was the queen o' bonny France, 

Where happy I hae been; 
Fu' lightly rise I in the morn, 

As blithe lay down at e'en: 
And I'm tiie sovereign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there; 
Yet here 1 lie in foreign bands. 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman ! — ■ 

My sister and my fae. 
Grim Vengeance yet shall whet a sword 

That through thy soul shall gae ! 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee; [woe 

Nor the balm that draps on wounds of 

Frae woman's pitying ee. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ! 
And may those pleasures gild thy reign, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee; [friend. 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's 

Remember him for me ! 

Oh ! soon to me may summer suns 

Nae mair light up the morn ! 
Nae mair to me the autumn winds 

Wave o er the yellow corn ! 
And in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave; [spring 
And the next flowers that declc the 

Bloom on my peaceful grave 1 



LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OP 
GLENCATRN. 

The e,~rly death of the Earl of Glcncairn 
robbed the poet of an intelligent friend and 



f)atron. Burns enclosed the " Lament in a 
etter to Lady Elizabeth Cunningham, the 
sister of the earl, from which we quote the 
following : — " My heart glows, and shall 
ever glow, with the most grateful sense and 
remembrance of his lordship's goodness. 
The sables I Jid Ci^ self the honour to wear 
to his lordship's memory were not the 
' mockery of woe.' Nor shall my gratitude 

?ensh with me ! If, among my children, 
shall have a son that has a heart, he shall 
hand it down to his child as a family hon- 
our, and a family debt, that my dearest ex- 
istence 1 owe to the noble house of Glen- 
cairn." 

The wind blew liollow frae tlie hills, 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
Look'd on the fading yellow v/oods 

That waved o'er Lugar's winding 
stream 
Beneath a craigy steep, a bard. 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 

He lean'd him to an ancient aik, 

Whose trunk was mouldering down 

with years; [time, 

His locks were bleached white with 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears; 
And as he touched his trembling harp. 

And as he tuned his doleftil sang. 
The winds lamenting through their 
caves. 

To Echo bore the notes alang: — 

" Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honours of the aged year ! 
A few short months, and glad and gay, 

Again ye'll charm the ear and ee; 
But nocht in all revolving time 

Can gladness bring again to me, 

" I am a bending aged tree, 

That long has stood the wind and 
rain; 
But now has come a cruel blast. 

And my last hold of earth is gane : 
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring, 

Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom; 
But I maun lie before the storm. 

And ithers plant them in my room. - 

" I've seen sae mony cliangefu' years. 
On earth ^ «.it^ " "^tr-r^jsrsr grown; 

1 wander in the ways of men. 
Alike unknowing and unknown; 



Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved, 
I bear alane my lade o' care. 

For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

"And last (the sum of a' my griefs !) 

My noble master lies in clay; 
The flower amang our barons bold. 

His country's pride — his country's 
stay ! 
In weary being now I pine, 

For a' the life of life is dead. 
And hope has left my aged ken, 

On forward wing forever fled. 

" Awake thy last sad voice, my liarp I 

The voice of woe and wild despair; 
Awake ! resound thy latest lay — 

Then sleep in silence evermair ! 
And thou, my last, best, only friend, 

That Sillest an untimely tomb, 
Accept this tribute from the bard 

Thou brought from Fortune's mirk- 
est gloom , 

" In Poverty's low barren vale 

Thick mists, obscure, involved me 
round; 
Though oft I turn'd the wistful eye; 

Nae ray of fame was to be found; 
Thou found'st me, like the morning 
sun. 

That melts the fogs in limpid air — • 
The friendless bard and rustic song 

Became alike thy fostering care. 

"Oh! why has worth so short a 
date. 

While villains ripen gray with time? 
Must thou, the noble, generous, 
great. 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prime ! 
Why did I live to see that day ? 

A day to me so full of woe! — 
Oh ! had I met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low ! 

"The bridegroom may forget tba 
bride 

Was made his wedded wife yestreen : 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on his head an hour has been; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; 
But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, 

And a' that thou hast done for mel" 



POEMS. 



137 



LINES 

SEKT TO SIR JOHN WHITEFOOKD, 
BAKT. , OF WHITEFOORD, WITH THE 
FOREGOING POEM. 

Thou, tvIio thy honour as tliy God re- 
verest, [earthly fear'st, 

Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought 
To thee this votive-offering 1 impart, 
The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 
The friend thou valued'st, I the patron 
loved; [approved. 

His worth, his honour, all the world 
We'll mourn till we too go as he has 

gone. 
And tread the dreary path to that dark 
"world unknown. 



ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF 
THOMSON, 

ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, 
ROXBURGHSHIRE, "WITH B.VYS. 

The Earl of Buchan invited the poet to be 
present at the coronation of Thomson's 
bust, on Ednam Hill. He could not attend, 
but sent the following " Address " in- 
stead : — 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 
Unfolds her tender mantle green, 

Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, 
Or tunes .^olian strains between: 

While Summer with a matron grace, 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade. 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spilvy blade: 

V/hile Autumn, benefactor kind. 
By Tweed erects his aged head. 

And sees, with self -approving mind, 
Each creature on his bounty fed: 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 
The hills w^hence classic Yarrow 
flows. 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar. 
Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snov/s : 

So lon<^, sweet poet of tlie year ! 

Shall bloom that wreath thou well 
hast won- 
W^hile Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaiiiis that Thomson was her son ! 



VERSES 

TO JOHN MAXWELL OF TERRAUGHTY, 

ON HIS BIRTHDAY. 

Health to the Maxwells' veteran chief I 
Health, aye unsour'd by care or grief: 
Inspired, I turn'd Fate's sybil leaf 

This natal morn; 
I see thy life is stuff o' prief,^ 

Scarce quite half worn. 

This day thou metes threescore eleven. 
And I can tell that bounteous Heaven 
(The second sight, ye ken, is given 

To ilka- poet) 
On thee a tack o' seven times seven 

Will yet bestow it. 

If envious buckles^ view wi' sorrow 
The lengthen'd days on this blest mor- 
row. 
May Desolation's lang-teeth'd harrow. 

Nine miles an hour. 
Rake them, like Sodom and Gomorrah, 

In brunstane stoure H 

But for thy friends, and they are mony, 
Baith honest men and lasses bonny, 
May couthie^ Fortune, kind and canny. 
In social glee, [ny, 

Wi' mornings blithe and e'enings fun- 
Bless them and thee ! 

Fareweel, auld birkie !^ Lord be near 

ye. 

And then the deil he daurna steer ye: 
Your friends aye love, your faes aye 
fear ye; 

For me, shame fa' me. 
If neist my heart I diima wear ye. 

While Burns they ca' rnel 



THE VOWELS: 

A TALE. 

'TwAS where the birch and sounding 

thong are plied. 
The noisy domicile of pedant pride; 
Where Ignorance her darkening vapour 

throws, [blows; 

And Cruelty directs the thickening 
Upon a time, Sir Abece the great. 
In all his pedagogic powers elate, 



' Proof. 2 Every. 3 Bucks. ■* Dust. 
ing. * A lively fellow. __ 



Lov« 



139 



BURNS' WORKS. 



His awful cliair of state resolves to 

mount, [count. 

And call tlie trembling Vowels to ac- 

First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn 
■"'^io-lit. [sight ! 

But, an ! deform'd, dishonest to the 
His tv/isted head look'd backward on 
his way, [grunted ai ! 

And flagrant from the scourge he 
Reluctant, E stalk'd in ; with piteous 
race [face ! 

The jostling tears ran down his honest 
That name, that well-worn name, and 
all his own, [throne ! 

Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's 
The pedant stifles keen the Roman 
sound [compound; 

Not all his mongrel diphthongs can 
And nest the title following close be- 
hind, [sign'd. 
He to the nameless ghastly wretch as- 

The cobweb'd Gothic dome resounded 

Y! 
In sullen vengeance, I disdain'd reply: 
The pedant swung his felon cudgel 

round, [the ground ! 

And knocked the groaning vowel to 

In rueful apprehension enter'd 0, 
The wailing minstrel of despairing 

woe; [pert. 

The inquisitor of Spain the most ex- 
Might there have learnt new mysteries 

of his art: [ing, U 

So grim, deform'd, with horrors enter- 
His dearest friend and brother scarcely 

knew 1 

As trembling U stood staring all 
aghast, [him fast. 

The pedant in his left hand clutch'd 

In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his 
right, [liis sight. 

Baptized him eu, and kick'd him from 



ADAM A 'S PRAYER. 

The circumstances under which the following 
lines were written were as follows : — The 
servant of a Mauchline innkeeper having 
been too indulgent to one ot her master's 
customers, a number of reckless young fel- 
lows, among whom was Adam A , an 

ill-made little fellow, made her " nde the 
;..^«L- - -hat is, placed her at,tride r. v;ood- 
en pole, and carried her through the streets. 



An action being raised against the offend- 
ers, Adam A absconded. While skulk- 
ing about, Burns met him and suggested 
that he needed some one to pray for him : 
"Just do't yoursel, Burns; I know no one 

so fit," Adam replied. Adam A 's Prayer 

was the result. 

GuDE pity me, because I'ln little. 
For though I am an elf o' mettle. 
And can, lilce ony wabster's' shuttle, 

Jink'^ there or here; [tie.' 
Yet, scarce as lang's a guid kail wlxit- 

I'm unco queer. 

And now thou kens our woefu' case. 
For Geordie's jurr* we're in disgrace. 
Because we've stang'd her through the 
place. 

And hurt her spleuchan, 
For which we daurna show our face 

Within the clachan.* 

And now we're dern'd^ in glens and 

hollows, 
And hunted, as was William Wallace, 
Wi' constables, those blackguard fal- 
lows, 

And sodgers baith; 
But Gude preserve us frae the gallows, 
That shamefu' death ! 

Auld, grim, black-bearded Geordie's 

sel. 
Oh, shake him o'er the mouth o' hell, 
There let him hing, and roar, and yell, 

Wi' hideous din. 
And if he offers to rebel. 

Just heave'' him in. 

When Death comes in, wi' glimmering 
blink, [wink. 

And tips auld drunlien Nanse f the 
May Hornie gie her doup a clink 

Ahiut his yett,' 
And fill her up wi' brimstone drink, 

Red, reeking, het. 

There's Jockie and the haveril Jenny,:]: 
Some devils seize them in a hurry, 



1 Weaver's. ^ Dodge. ^ Knife. 4 Village. 
^ Hidden. « Pitch. ' Gate. 

* " Jurr" is in the west of Scotland a collo- 
quial term for " journeyman," and is often 
applied to designate a servant of either sex. 

t Geordie's w _„. 

% Geordie's son and daughter. 



POEMS. 



139 



Aud waff tlieni in the infernal wlierry 
Straught tlirougb. the lake, 

And gie their hides a noble ciirry, 
Wi' oil of aik. 

As for the jurr, poor worlIiI©5E body, 
She 's got mischief enough already ; 
Wi' stanged hips, and buttocks bluidy, 

She 's suffer'd sair ; 
But may she win tie in a woodie/ 

If she whore mair. 



VERSES TO JOHN RxiNKINE.* 

Ae day, as Death , that grusome carl, 
Was driving to tlie tither warl' 
A mixtie-maxtie, motley squad. 
And mony a guilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station, 
From him that wears the star and gar- 
ter. 
To him that wintles' in a halter, 
Ashamed himsel to see the wretches. 
He mutters, glowerin"-^ at the bitches, 
" By God, I '11 not be seen beliint them, 
Nor 'mang the sp'ritual core present 

them. 
Without, at least, ae honest man. 
To grace this damn'd infernal clan." 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
"Lord God!" quoth he, "I have it 

now ; 
There's just the man I want, i' faith !" 
And quickly stoppit Rankiue's breath. 



ON SENSIBILITY. 

TO MY DEAR AND MUCH-HONOURED 
FRIEND, MRS. DUNLOP OP DUNLOP. 

Sensibility, how charming. 

Thou, my friend, canst truly tell ; 

But distress, with horrors arming. 
Thou hast also known too well ! 

Fairest flower, behold the lily. 
Blooming in the sunny ray : 

Let the blast sweep o'er the valley. 
See it prostrate on the clay. 

8 Struggle in a halter. 
^Struggles, ^statinp-. 
* John Rankine oi Adamhill, tne " rough, 
rude, rcady-vvitteci Rankine" of the Epistle. 



Hear the woodlark charm the forest. 
Telling o'er his little joys ; 

Hapless bird ! a prey the surest, 
"I'd each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought the hidden treasTire 
Finer feelings can bestow ; 

Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure 
Thrill the deepest notes of woe. 



LINES ON FERGUSSON. 

The following lines were inscribed by Bums 
on a blank leaf of a copy of the periodical 
publication entitled the World, from which 
they have been copied : — 

III - FATED genius ! Heaven - taught 
Fergusson ! [yield a tear, 

What heart that feels and will not 
To think life's sun did set ere well be • 
gun [career. 

To shed its influence on thy bright 
Oh, why should truest worth and_ ge- 
nius pine [Woe, 
Beneath the iron grasp of Want and 
While titled knaves and idiot great- 
ness shine [stow 1 
111 all the splendour Fortune can be- 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN", 

AN OCCASIONAL ADDRESS SPOKEN BY 
MISS FONTENELLE ON HER BEN- 
EFIT NIGHT. 

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty 
things, [kings ; 

The fate of empires and the fall of 
While quacks of state must each pro- 
duce his plan, [man ; 
And even children lisp the rights of 
Ainid this mighty fuss, just let me 
mention, [tention. 
The rights of v/oman merit some at- 

First, in the sexes' intermix'd con- 
nexion, [tection. 
One sacred right of woman is, pro- 
The tender flower that lifts its head, 
elate, [fate, 
Helpless, must fall before the blasts of 
Sunk on the earth, defaced its lovelv 
form, [stonu. 
Unless your shelter ward th' impendiag 



140 



BUllNS' WORKS. 



Our second right — but needless here is 

caution, [ion ; 

To keep that right inviolate 's the fash- 
Each man of sense has it so full before 

him. [corum. 

Be 'd die betore iie 'd wrong it — 'tis de- 
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd 

days, [naughty ways ; 

A time, when rough, rude man, had 
Would swagger, sweai', get drunk, 

kick up a riot. 
Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet ! 
Now, thank our stars ! these Gothic 

times are fled ; [well bred ! — 

Now, well-bred men — and ye are all 
Most justly thinlv (and we are much 

the gainers) [manners. 

Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor 

For right the third, our last, our best, 
our dearest, [the nearest. 

That right to fluttering female hearts 
Which even the rights of kings m low 
prostration [miration ! 

Most humbly own — 'tis dear, dear ad- 
In that blest sphere alone we live and 
move ; [love ; 

There taste that life of life — immortal 
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flir- 
tations, airs, [dares — 
'Gainst such a host what flinty savage 
When awful Beauty joins with all her 

charms, 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms ? 

But truce with kings, and truce with 
constitutions, [tions ! 

With bloody armaments and revolu- 

Let majesty your first attention sum- 
mon. 

Ah! Qa ira! the majesty of woman! 



ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE 

CHILD. 

The following' lines were composed on the 
death of a daughter, which tool; place sud- 
denly while the poet was absent from 
home : — 

Oh, sweet be thy sleep in the land of 
the grave, 

M-n- ^ — '•'■'■■i„ a,ngel forever; [slave, 
l^oi- ever — osi tiu ! let not man be a 

His hopes from existence to sever. 



Though cold be the clay where thou 
pillow'st thy head, 
In the dark silent mansions of sorrow, 
The spring shall return to thy low nar- 
row bed, [row. 
Like the beam of the daystar to-mor- 

The flower-stem shall bloom like thy 

sweet seraph form, [som; 

Ere the spoiler had nipt thee in blos- 

When thou shrunk from the scowl of 

the loud winter storm. 

And nestled thee close to that bosom. 

Oh, still I behold thee, all lovely in 

death. 

Reclined on the lap of thy mother. 

When the tear trickled bright, when 

the short stifled breath, [other. 

Told how dear ye were aye to each 

My child, thou art gone to the home of 

thy rest, [ye, 

Wliere suffering no longer can harm 

Where the songs of the good, whero 

the hymns of the blest. 

Through an endless existence shall 

charm thee. 

While he, thy fond parent, must sigh- 
ing sojourn 
Through the dire desert regions of 
sorrow, 
O'er the hope and misfortune of being 
to mourn, 
And sigh for his life's latest morrow. 



TO A KISS. 

Humid seal of soft affections, 
Tenderest pledge of future bliss, 

Dearest tie of young connexions, 
Love's first snowdrop, virgin kiss I 

Speaking silence, dumb confession. 
Passion's birth, and infant's play. 

Dove-like fondness, chaste concession. 
Glowing dawn of brighter day, 

Sorrowing joy, adieu's last action. 
When lingering lips no more must 
join, 

%^niat words can ever speak affection 
So thrilling and sincere as thine ! 



POEMS. 



141 



SONNET. 

ON HEAKINa A THRUSH SING IN A 
MORNING "WALK; WRITTEN JAN. 25, 
1793, THE BIRTHDAY OF THE AU- 
THOR. 

Sing on, sweet tlirusli, upon the leaf- 
less bough, ' [strain: 
Sing on, sweet bird, I listen to thy 
See, aged Winter, 'mid his surly 
reign, [brow. 
At thy blithe carol clears his furrow'd 
So in lone Poverty's dominion drear. 
Sits meek Content with light unans- 
ious heart, [them part, 
Welcomes the rapid moments, bids 
Nor asks if they bring aught to hope or 
fear. 

I thank Thee, Author of this opening 

day ! [orient skies ! 

Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon 

Riches denied. Thy boon was purer 

joys, [away ! 

What wealth could never give nor talie 

Yet come, thou child of Poverty and 

Care; 
The mite high Heaven bestow'd, that 

mite with thee I'll share. 



IMPROMPTU ON MRS. RIDDEL'S 
BIRTHDAY. 

NOVEMBER 4, 1793. 

Old Winter with his frosty beard 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd — 
" What have I done, of all the year. 
To bear this hated doom severe ? 
My cheerless suns no pleasure know; 
Night's horrid car drags dreary, slow; 
My dismal months no joys are crown- 
ing, [ing. 

But spleeny English, hanging, drown- 

' ' Now, Jove, for once be mighty civil. 
To counterbalance all this evil ; 
Give me, and I've no more to say. 
Give me, Maria's natal-day ! 
That brilliant gift shall so enrich me. 
Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot 
match me." [sto-'- 

"'Tis done!" says Jove; so ends my 
And Winter once rejoiced in glory. 



EPISTLE FROM ESOPUS TO 

MARIA. 

The Esopus of this epistle was Williamson, the 
actor ; and the JMaria to whom it is address- 
pri wqj? Mrs. Riddel— "A lady," says Allan 
^^ai'.iiingi^jin, "whose memory will be held 
in grateful remembrance, not only for hex 
having forgiven the poet for his lampoons, 
but for her having written a sensible, clear, 
heart-warm account of him when laid in tne 
grave. Mrs. Riddle was a sincere friend 
and admirer of Burns, who quarrelled wiia 
her on account of some fancied slight. 
Williamson was a member of the dramatic 
company which frequently visited Dumfries. 
He had been a frequent visitor at Mrs. 
Riddel's. While the dramatic company 
were at Whitehaven, the Earl of Lonsdale 
committed them to prison as vagrants. 
Burns had no favour for the Earl of Lons- 
dale, and managed in the epistle to gratify 
his aversi on to him, as well as his temporary 
anger with Mrs Riddel. His behaviour 
towards the latter was as discreditable to 
him as Mrs- Riddel's generosity in forgiving 
it was worthy of her goodness and her high 
opinion of his better nature." 

From those drear solitudes and frowsy 
cells, [dwells; 

Where infamy with sad repentance 
Where turnkeys make the jealous mor- 
tal fast, [past; 
And deal from iron hands the spare re- 
Where truant 'prentices, yet young in 
sin, [in; 
Blush at the curious stranger peeping 
Where strumpets, relics of the drunken 
roar, [no more; 
Resolve to drink, nay, half to whore. 
Where tiny thieves, not destined yet to 
swing, [string: 
Beat hemp for others riper for the 
From these dire scenes my wretched 

lines I date, 
I'o tell Maria her Esopus' fate. 

" Alas ! I feel I am no actor here ! " 
'Tis real hangmen real scourges bear ! 
Prepare, Maria, for a horrid tale 
Will turn thy very rouge to deadly 

pale; [gipsy poU'd, 

Will make thy hair, though erst from 
By barber woven, and by barber sold. 
Though twisted smooth with Harry's 

nicest care. 
Like hoary bristles to erect and stare. 
The hero of the mimic scene, no more 
I start in Hamlet, in Othello roar; 
Cr Lzr-gh'^i' chieftain, 'mid the din of 

arras, " [charms; 

In Hiirhlaud bonnet woo Malvina'3 



143 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Whilst sans-culottea stoop up the 

mouutain high, 
And steal from me Maria's prying eye. 
Blest Highland bonnet ! once my 

proudest dress, [press. 

Now prouder still, Maria's temples 
I see her wave thy towering plumes 

afar, [war; 

And call each coxcomb to the wordy 
I see her face the first of Ireland's 

sons, [bronze; 

And even out-Irish his Hibernian 
1 he crafty colonel leaves the tartan'd 

lines, [shines; 

For other wars, where he a hero 
The hopeful youth, in Scottish senate 

bred, [the head; 

Who owns a Bushby's heart without 
Comes, 'mid a string of coscombs to 

display 
That veni, mdi, mci, is his way ; 
The shrinking bard adown an alley 

skulks, [Woolwich hulks: 

And dreads a meeting worse than 
Though there, his heresies in church 

and state [mer's fate; 

Might well award him Muir and Pal- 
Still she undaunted reels and rattles on. 
And dares the public like a noontide 

sun. [stagger 

(What scandal call'd Maria's janty 
The ricket reeling of a crooked swag- 
ger; [venom when 
Whose spleen e'en worse than Burns' 
He dips in gall unmix'd his eager 

pen, — [ing line, 

And pours his vengeance in the burn- 
Who christen'd thus Maria's lyre 

divine; 
The idiot strum of vanity bemused. 
And even the abuse of poesy a])used; 
Who call'd her verse a parish work- 
house, made [or stray'd ?) 
For motley, foundling fancies, stolen 

A workhouse ! ha, that sound aw^akes 

my Avoes, [pose ! 

And pillows on the thorn my rack'd re- 
in durance vile here must I wake and 

weep, [steep ! 

And all my frowsy couch in sorrow 
That straw where many a rogue has 

lain of yore, 
And vermiu'd gipsies littered lieretc- 

fore. * 



Why, Lonsdale, thus thy wrath on va- 
grants pour, [dure? 
Must earth no rascal save thyself en- 
Must thou alone in guilt immortal 

swell. 
Ana make t. vast monopoly of hell ? 
Thou luiow'st the virtues cannot hate 
thee worse; [curse ? 

The vices also, must they club their 
Or must no tiny sin to others fall. 
Because thy guilt's supreme enough 
for all ? 

Maria, send me to thy griefs and 

cares; 
In all of these sure thy Esopus shares. 
As thou at all mankind the flag un- 
furls, [hurls? 
Who on my fair one satire's vengeance 
Who calls thee pert, affected, vain co- 
quette, 
A wit in folly, and a fool in wit ? 
Who says that fool alone is not thy due. 
And quotes thy treacheries to prove it 

true? 
Our force united on thy foes v/e'll turn, 
And dare the war with all of woman 
born; [and I? 

For who can write and speak as thou 
My periods that deciphering defy. 
And thy still matchless tongue that 
conquers all reply. 



MONODY ON A LADY FAMED FOE 
HER, CAPRICE.* 

How cold is that bosom wMcIi folly 
once fired, 
How pale is that cheek where the 
rogue lately glisten 'd ! 
How silent that tongue which the 
echoes oft tired. 
How dull is that ear which to flat- 
tery so listen'd ! 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await. 
From friendship and dearest affec- 
tion removed; 
How doul:)ly severe, Eliza, thy fate. 
Thou diedst unwept as thou livedst 
unloved. 



*i..i3 v.-ii inoiher of ihe poet's splenetic 
attacks on Mrs. Riddel. 



POEMS. 



143 



Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not 

on you; [not a tear 

So sliy, grave, and distant, ye slied 

But come, all ye offspring of Folly so 

true, [cold bier. 

And flowers let us cull lor Eliza's 

We'll search tlirougli tlie garden for 

each silly flower, 

We'll roam through the forest for 

each idle weed; 

But chiefly the nettle, so typical, 

shower, [rued the rash deed. 

For none e'er approach'd her but 

We'll sculpture the marble, we'll 

measure the lay; 

Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre; 

There keen Indignation shall dart on 

her prey, [deem from liis ire. 

Which spurning Contempt shall re- 



POEM ON PASTORAL POETRY. 

Hail, Poesie ! thou nymph reserved ! 
In chase o' thee, what crowds hae 

swerved. 
Frae common sense, or sunk ennerved 

'Mang heaps o' clavers;' 
And och ! owre aft thy joes'^ hae 
starved 

'Mid a' thy favours ! 

Say, lassie, why thy train amang, 
While loud the trump's heroic clang, 
And sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage; 
Scarce ane has tried the shepherd sang 

But wi' miscarriage ? 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives; 
Esohylus' pen Will Shakespeare drives; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin,^ till him rives'* 

Iloratian fame; 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Even Sappho's flame. 
But thee, Theocritus, wha matches? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's 

catches: 
Squire Pope but busks his skinklin^ 
patches 

0' heathen tatters: 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches. 

That ape their betters. 



' Nonsense. ^ Lovers. 

* Draws. « Thin or gauzy. 



' Dwarfish. 



In this "braw age o' wit and lear. 
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air 

And rural grace; 
And wi' the far-famed Grecian share 

A rival place ? 

Yes ! there is ane; a Scottish callan — 
There's ane; come forrit, honest Allan!-' 
Thou need na jouk^ behint the hallan, 

A chiel sae clever; 
The teeth o' time may gnaw Tantallan, 

But thou's for ever ! 

Thou paints auld nature to the nines. 
In thy sweet Caledonian lines; [twines, 
Nae gowden stream through myrtles 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines. 

Her griefs will tell ! 

In gowany glens thy burnie strays, 
Where bonny lasses bleach their claes; 
Or trots by hazelly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns gray, 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd'a 
lays 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are nature's sel; 

Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell; 

Nae snap conceits — but that sweet spell 

0' witchin' love; 
That charm that can the strongest quell, 

The sternest move. 



SONNET 

ON THE DEATH OB' ROBERT RIDDEL, 
ESQ., OF GLEN RIDDEL. f 

No more, ye warblers of the wood, no 
more ! [my soul: 

Nor pour your descant, grating, on 
Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy 
verdant stole — 
More welcome were to me grim Win- 
ter's wildest roar. 

How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all 
your dyes ? [friend ! 

Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my 
How can I to the tuneful strain at- 
tend ? 

» Hide. 

* Allan Ramsay. 

t Robert Riddel, Esq., of Friars' Carse, a 
very worthy g-entleman, and one from whoa 
Bums had received many obligations. 



144 



BURNS' WORKS. 



That strain flows round tlie untimely 
tomb where Riddel lies ! 

Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes 

of woe ! [his bier: 

And soothe the Virtues weeping o'er 

The Man of Worth, who has not left 

his peer, [low. 

Is in his narrow house, for ever darkly 

Thee, Spring, again with joy shall 

others greet, [meet. 

Me, memory of my loss will only 



LIBERTY : 

A FEAGMENT. 

Writing to Mrs. Dunlop from Castle-Douglas, 
the poet says : — " I am just going: to trouble 
your critical patience with the first sketch 
of a stanza I have been framing as I passed 
along the road. The subject is Liberty: 
you know, my honoured friend, how dear 
the theme is to me. I design it as an irreg- 
ular ode for General Washington's birth- 
day. After having mentioned the degener- 
acy of other kingdoms, I come to Scotland 
thus :" — 

Thee, Caledonia, thy wild heaths 
among, [sacred song, 

Thee, famed for martial deed and 
To thee I turn with swimming eyes; 
Where is that soul of freedom fled ? 
Immingled with the mighty dead, 
Beneath the hallow'd turf where 
Wallace lies ! 
Hear it not, Wallace, in thy bed of 
death ! 
Ye babbling winds, in silence sweep; 
Disturb not ye the hero's sleep. 
Nor give the coward secret breath. 
Is this the power in freedom's war 
That wont to bid the battle rage ? 
Behold that eye which shot immortal 
hate. 
Braved usurpation's boldest daring ! 
That arm which, nerved with thunder- 
ing fate, [ing : 
Crush'd the despot's proudest bear- 
One quench'd in darkness, like the 
sinking star, [powerless age. 
And one the palsied arm of tottering, 



His roj'-al visage seam'd with many a 

scar, [form. 

That Caledonian rear'd his martial 



Who led the tyrant-quelling war. 
Where Bannockburn's ensanguined 

flood 
Swell'd with mingling hostile blood, 
Soon Edward's myriads struck with . 

deep dismay, [their way. 

And Scotia's troop of brothers Avin 
(Oh, glorious deed to bay a tyrant's 

band ! [land ! 

Oh, heavenly joy to free our native 
While high their mighty chief pour'd 

on the doubling stoim. 



VERSES 

TO MISS GRAHAM OF FINTET, WITH A 

PRESENT OP SOKGS. 

Here, where the Scottish Muse im- 
mortal lives, [bers join'd. 
In sacred strains and tuneful num- 
Accept the gift, though humble he who 
gives ; [mind. 
Rich is the tribute of the gratef al 

So may no ruflBan feeling in thy breast 

Discordant jar thy bosom - chords 

among ! [rest. 

But Peace attune thy gentle soul to 

Or Love, ecstatic, wake his seraph 

song ! 

Or Pity's notes, in luxury of tears, 

As modest Want the tale of woe re- 

vealts ; [endears. 

While conscious Virtue all the strain 

And heaven-born Piety her sanction 

seals. 



THE TREE OF LIBERTY. 

This poem was taken from a MS. in the poet's 
handwriting in the possession of Mr. James 
Duncan, Mosesfield, near Glasgow, and 
was first printed in Mr. Robert Chambers' 
edition of^the poet's works, 1838. 

Heard ye o' the tree o' France, 

I watna^ what's the name o't; 
Around it a' the patriots dance, 

Weel Europe kens the fame o't. 
It stands where ance the Bastile stood, 

A prison built by kings, man. 
When Superstition's hellish brood 

Kept France in leading-strings, msji. 

> Know aot. 



POEMS. 



i4n 



Upo' tliis tree tliere grows sic fruit, 

Its virtues a' can tell, man; 
It raises man aboou the brute, 

It makes liim ken liimsel, man. 
Gif ance the peasant taste a bit. 

He's greater tlian a lord, man, 
And wi' the beggar shares a mite 

Of a' he can afford, man. 

This fruit is worth a' Af ric's -wealth, 

To comfort us 'twas sent, man: 
To gie the sweetest blush o' health, 

And mak us a' content, man. 
It clears the een, it cheers the heart, 

Maks high and low guid friens, man. 
And he wha acts the traitor's part 

It to perdition sends, man. 

My blessings aye attend the chiel- 

Wha pitied Gallia's slaves, man. 
And staw^ a branch, spite o' the deil, 

Frae yont'' the western waves, man. 
Fair Virtue water'd it wi' care. 

And now she sees wi' pride, man. 
How weel it buds and blossoms there. 

Its branches spreading wide, man. 

But vicious folk aye hate to see 

The works o' Virtue thrive, man; 
The courtly vermin's bann'd the tree. 

And grat^ to see it thrive, man ; 
King Louis thought to cut it down. 

When it was unco^ sma', man; 
For this the watchman cracked his 
crown. 

Cut aff his head and a', man. 

A wicked crew syne,'' on a time. 

Did tak a solemn aith, man. 
It ne'er should flourish to its prime, 

I wat^ they pledged their faith, man. 
Awa' they gaed,^ wi' mock parade. 

Like beagles hunting game, man. 
But poon grew weary o' the trade. 

And wish'd they'd been at hame, 
man. 

For Freedom, standing by the tree. 
Her sons did loudly ca', man; 

She sang a sang o' liberty, 

Which pleased them ana and a', man. 

By her inspired, the new-born race 
Soon drew the avenging steel, man; 

5 Matt. 3 Stole. * From beyond. « Wept. 
« Very. 1 Then. ^ Know. » Went. 



The hirelings ran — her foes gied^" 
chase. 
And bang'd'' the despot weel, man. 

Let Britain boast her hardy oak, 

tier poplar and her pine, man, 
Auld Britain ance could crack her joke, 

And o'er her neighbours shine, man. 
But seek the forest round and round, 

And soon 'twill be agreed, man. 
That sic a tree cannot be found 

'Twixt London and the Tweed, man. 

Without this tree, alake, this life 

Is but a vale o' woe, man ; 
A scene o' sorrow mix'd wi' strife, 

Nae real joys we know, man. 
We labour soon, we labour late. 

To feed the titled knave, man; 
And a' the comfort we're to get 

Is that ayont the grave, man. 

Wi' plenty o' sic trees, I trow. 

The warld would live in peace, man; 
The sword would help to mak a plough. 

The din o' war wad cease, man. 
Like brethren in a common cause. 

We'd on each other smile, man; 
And equal rights and equal laws 

Wad gladden every isle, man. 

Wae worth the loon'^ wha wadna eat 

Sic halesome dainty cheer, man; 
I'd gie my shoon frae aff my feet. 

To taste sic fruit, I s wear, man. 
Syne let us pray, auld England may 

Sure plant this far-famed tree, man; 
And blithe we'll sing, and hail the day 

That gives us liberty, man. 



TO CHLORIS. 

The Chloris of the following lines, and of .sev- 
eral songs of the poet's, was a Mrs. Whelp- 
dale, the beautiful daughter of Mr. William 
Lorimer, farmer of Kemmis Hall, near Elhs- 
land. Her marriage was unfortunate, for a 
few months after it took place she was sep- 
arated from her husband, whom she did not 
again meet for twenty-three years. 

'Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, 
fair friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse. 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralising Muse. 



1" Gave. " Be.-it. »» Fellow. 



146 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Since thou, in all tliy youth and 
charms, 

Must bid the world adieu 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms) 

To join the friendly few. 

Since thy gay morn of life o'ercast, 
Chill came the tempest's lower; 

(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 
Did nip a fairer flower.) 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no 
more, 

Still much is left behind; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thine is the self-approving glow. 
On conscious honour's part: 

And, dearest gift of Heaven below, 
Thine friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refined of sense and taste. 

With every Muse to rove: 
And doubly were the poet blest. 

These joys could he improve. 



VERSES 

ON THE DESTRUCTION OF THE WOODS 

NEAE DRUMLANRIG. 

The Duke of Queensberry, who was no fav- 
ourite of the poet's, and who was deserved- 
ly held in little esteem wherever his charac- 
ter was known, had (we quote from Mr. 
Chambers) " stripped his domains of Drum- 
lanrig m Dumfriesshire, and Neidpath in 
Peeblesshire, of all the wood fit for being 
cut, in order to enrich the Countess of Yar- 
mouth, whom he supposed to be his daugh- 
ter, and to whom, by a singular piece of 
good fortune on her part, Mr. George Sel- 
wyn, the celebrated wit, also left a fortune, 
under the same, and probably equally mis- 
taken, impression." 

As on the banks o' wandering Nith 

Ae smiling summer morn I stray'd. 
And traced its bonny howes and haughs, 

Where Unties sang and lambkins 
pKay'd, 
I sat me down upon a craig, 

And drank my fill o' fancy's dream, 
When, from the eddying deep below. 

Uprose the genius of the stream. 

Dark, like the frowning rock, his broAV, 
And troubled like his wintry wave, 



And deep, as sughs' the boding wind 

Amang his eaves, the sigh he gave — • 
"And came ye here, my son," he 
cried, 
' ' To wander in my birken shade ? 
To muse some favourite Scottish theme. 
Or sing some favourite Scottish 
m.aid 1 

" There was a time, it 's nae langsyne,^ 

Ye might hae seen me in my pride. 
When a' my banks sae bravely saw 

Their woody pictures in my tide ; 
When hanging beech and spreading 
elm 

Shaded my stream sae clear and cool; 
And stately oaks their twisted arms 

Threw broad and dark across the 
pool : 

" Wlien glinting through the trees ap- 
pear'd 

The wee white cot aboon the mill, 
And peacefu' rose its ingle reek,* 

That slowly curl'd up the hill. 
But now the cot is bare and cauld. 

Its branchy shelter 's lost and gane, 
And scarce a stinted birk is left 

To shiver in the blast its lane." 

" Alas !" said I, "what ruefu' chance 

Has twin d* ye o' your stately trees ! 
Has laid your rocky bosom bare ? 

Has stripp'd the deeding* o' your 
braes ! 
Was it the bitter eastern blast. 

That scatters blight in early sprmg? 
Or was 't the wil-fire scorch'd their 
boughs. 

Or canker-worm wi' secret sting ?" 

" Nae eastlin blast," tlie sprite replied; 

" It blew na here sae fierce and fell; 
And on my dry and halesome banks 

Nae canker • worms get leave to 
dwell : 
Man ! cruel man !" the genius sigh'd— 

As through the cliffs he sank him 

down — [trees, 

" The worm that gnaw'd my bonny 

That reptile wears a ducal crown !" 



1 Sighs. 2 Since. ^ The smoke of its fire. 

4 Reft. 5 Clothing. 



POEMS. 



147 



ADDRESS 

SPOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE ON HER 
BENEFIT NIGHT, 

" We have had a brilliant theatre here this 
season," the poet writes to Mrs. Dunlop ; 
" only, as all other business does, it experi- 
ences a stagnation of trade from the epidem- 
ical complaint of the country — want of cash. 
I mention our theatre merely to lug in an 
occasional address which I wrote for the 
benefit night of one of the actresses." 

Still anxious to secure your partial 

favour, [than ever, 

And not less anxious, sure, this night 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such 

matter, [ing better; 

'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if notli- 
So sought a poet, roosted near the skies. 
Told him I came to feast my curious 

eyes; [printed; 

Said nothing like his w^orks was ever 
And last, my Prologue- business slily 

hinted. [man of rhymes, 

"Ma'am, let m.e tell you," quoth my 
" I know your bent — these are no 

laughing times: 
Can you — but, Miss, I own I have my 

fears — 
Dissolve in pause and sentimental tears; 
With ladeu sighs, and solemn-rounded 

sentence, [Repentance; 

Rouse from his sluggish slumbers fell 
Paint Vengeance, as he takes his horrid 

stand. 
Waving on high the desolating brand, 
Calling the storms to bear him o'er a 

guilty land?" 

I could no more — askance the creature 
eyeing, [for crying ? 

D'ye think, said I, this face was made 

I'll laugh, that's poz — nay, more, the 
world shall know it: [Poet ! 

And so, your servant ! gloomy Master 

Firm as my creed, sirs, 'tis my fix'd be- 
lief. 

That Misery's aaother word for Qrief ; 

I also think — so may I be a bride ! 

That so much laughter, so much life 
enjoy'd. 

Thou man of crazy care and ceaseless 

sigh, [eye; 

Still under bleak Misfortune's blasting 

Dooni'd to that sorest task of man alive — 



To make three guineas do the work of 

five: [lam witch ! 

Laugh in Misfortune's face — the bed- 
Say you'll be merry, though you can't 

be rich. [love. 

Thou other man of care, the wretch in 
W ho long with jiltish arts and airs hast 

strove ; [Ject, 

Who, as the boughs all temptingly pro- 
Measured in desperate thought — a 

rope — thy neck — [the deep. 

Or, where the beetling cliff o'erhangs 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap: 
Wouldst thou be cured, thou silly, 

moping elf, [thyself: 

Laugh at her follies — laugh e'en at 
Learn to despise those frowns now so 

terrific, [specific. 

And love a kinder — that's your grand 

To sum up all, be merry, I advise; 
And as we're merry, may we still be 
wise I 



TO COLLECTOR MITCHELL. 

The poet died within a few months of writing 
this. But Collector Mitchell, who was a 
sincere friend to him, was not aware of 
his distress at this time. 

Friend of the poet, tried and leal, 
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal; 
Alake ! alake ! the meikle deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it skelpin'^ jig and reel. 

In my poor pouches ! 

I modestly fu' fain wad hint it. 
That one pound one I sairly want it; 
If wi' the hizzie^ dovni ye sent it. 

It would be kind; 
And while my heart wi' life-blood 
dunted,^ 

I'd bear't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang* out moan- 
ing 
To see the new come laden, groaning, 
Wi' double plenty o'er the loaning^ 

To thee and thine; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hale design. 



1 Dancing. 2 Girl. ^ Throbbed. ■• Go. 
= The road leading to the farm. 



148 



BURNS' V/OPtKS. 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Ye've heard tliis while how I've beea 

licket/ 
And by fell Death was nearly nicket;' 
Grim loun ! he gat me by the fecket/ 

Ajid sair me sheuk; 
But by guid luck I lap a wicket. 

And turn'd a neuk. 

But by that health, I've got a share 
o 't, [o 't, 

And by that life I'm promised mair 
My hale and weel I'll tak a care o 't, 

A tentier' wsij: 
Then fareweel folly, hide and hair o' t, 
For ance and aye ! 



TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER.* 
My honour'd colonel, deep I feel 
Your interest in the poet's weel. 
Ah ! now sma' heart hae I to speeV 

The steep Parnassus. 
Surrounded thus by bolus pill 

And potion glasses. 

Oh, what a canty'^ warld were it, 
Would pain, and care, and sickness 

spare it; 
And fortune favour worth and merit 

As they deserve I 
And aye a rowth^, roast beef and 
claret; 

Syne* wha wad starve ? 

Dame Life, though fiction out may 
trick her, [lier; 

And in paste gems and frippery deck 
Oh ! flickering, feeble, and unsicker* 

I've found her still. 
Aye wavering, like the willow wicker,® 

'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrons' by a ration, 
Our sinf u' saul to get a clauf on 

Wi' felon ire; 
Syne whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast 

saut^ on — 
He's aif like fi re. 

« Beaten. '' Cut off. 8 Waistcoat. » More 
careful. 

1 Climb. 2 Happy. 3 Abundance. * Then. 
"Insecure. 8 Twig. ''Cat. « Claw. "Salt. 

* Arentz de Peyster, colonel of the Gentle- 
men Volunteers of Dumfries, of which Burns 
v/as a member. He had made some kind in- 
quiries as to the poet's health. 



Ah, Nick ! ah, Nick ! it is nae fair. 
First showing us the tempting ware. 
Bright wines and bonny lasses rare. 

To put us daft,»« 
Syne weave, unseen, the spider snare 

O' hell's damn'd waft. 

Poor man, the flee aft bizzes by. 

And aft as chance he comes thee nigh. 

Thy auld damn'd elbow yeuks'' wi' 

joy. 

And hellish pleasure; 
Already in thy fancy's eye. 

Thy sicker treasure. 

Soon, heels-o'er-gowdie !'^ in he gangs. 
And, like a sheep -head on a tangs, 
Thy girning^^ laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murdering wrestle. 
As, dangling in the wind, he hangs 

A gibbet's tassel. 

But lest you think I am uncivil. 

To plague you with this draunting** 

drivel. 
Abjuring a' intentions evil, 

I quat my pen: 
The Lord preserve us frae the devil fe 
Amen I Amen ! 



TO MISS JESSl LEWARS, DUM- 
FRIES, 

WITH A PRESENT OF BOOKS. 

Cunningham says : — " Miss Jessy Lewars 
watched over the poet and his little house- 
hold during his declining days with all the 
affectionate reverence of a daughter. For 
this she has received the silent thanks of 
all who admire the genius of Bums, or look 
with sorrow on his setting sun ; she has re- 
ceived more — the undying thanks of the poet 
himself ; his songs to her honour, and his 
simple gifts of books and verse, will keep 
her name and fame long in the world." 

TniNE be the volumes, lessy, fair, 
And with them take the poet's prayer — . 
That Fate may in her fairest page. 
With every kindliest, best presage 
Of future bliss, enrol thy name; 
With native worth, and spotless fame. 
And wakeful caution still aware 
Of ill — but chief, man's felon snare. 
All blameless joys on earth we find. 
And all the treasures of the mind — 
These be thy guardian and reward ; 
So prays thy faithful friend — the Bard. 

'"Mad. "Itches. '^ -popsy-turvey. ^^ Gris. 
ning. !■' Drawling. 



EPISTLES. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN RANKINE 

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 

O ROUGH, rude, ready-witted Rankine, 
The wale' o' cocks for fun and drinkin'! 
There's mony godly folks are thinkin' 

Your dreams* and tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a-sinkin', 

Straught to auld Nick's. 

Te hae sae mony cracks and cants, ^ 
And in your wicked, drucken rants, ^ 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

And fill them fou;*f 
And then their failings, flaws, and 
wants. 

Are a' seen through. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it ! 

That holy robe, oh, dinna tear it ! [it, 

Spare't for their sakes wha aften wear 

The lads in black ! 
But your curst wit, when it comes 
near it, 

Rives't" aff their back. 

Think, wicked sinner, Avhaye're skaith- 

ing,* '[claithing:]: 

It's just the blue-gown badge and 



' Choice. 2 Stories and tricks. s Bouts. 
* Tipsy. 5 Pulls it. « Injuring. 

* A certain humorous dream of his was then 
malimga noise in the country-side. — B. 

t A minister or elder, some sav Holy Willie, 
had culled on Rankine, and had partaken so 
freely of whisky-toddy as to have ended by 
tumbling dead-drunk on the floor. 

t " The allusion here is to a privileged class 
of mendicants well known in Scotland by the 
name of ' Blue Gowns.' The order was insti- 
tuted by James V. of Scotland, the royal 
Gaberiunzie-Man.' " 



O' saunts; tak that, ye lea'e them na©« 
thing 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unregenerate heathen 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you here some rhyming ware, 
A' that I bargain'd for, and mair; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect 
Yon sang,§ ye'll sen't wi' cannie care. 

And no neglect. 

Though, faith, sma' heart hae I to 
sing ! [wing I 

My muse dow' scarcely spread her 
I've play'd mysel a bonny spring. 

And danced my fill ! 
I'd better gaen and sair't** the king. 

At Bunker's Hill. 

'Twas ae night lately, in my fun, 

I gaed a roving wi' the gun, 

And brought a paitrick^ to the grun*, 

A bonny hen, 
And, as the twilight was begun, 

Thought naue wad ken.*" 

The poor wee thing was little hurt; 
I straikit" it a wee for sport, [for't; 
Ne'er thinking they wad fash''^ me 

But, diel-ma-care ! 
Somebody tells the poacher-court 

The hale affair. 

Some auld-used hands had ta'en a note, 
That sic a hen had got a shot, 



'Dare 8 Served. 9 Partridge. »» KnoVA 
" Stroked. ^' Trouble. 

§ A song he had promised the author.— B. 



150 



BURNS' WORKS. 



I was suspected for the plot; 

I scorn'd to lie; 
So gat tlie whistle o' my groat. 

And pay't the fee. 

But, by my gun, o' guns the wale, 
And by my pouther and my hail. 
And by my hen, and by her tail, 

I vow and swear ! 
The game shall pay o'er moor and dale, 

For this, neist year. 

As soon's the clocking-time is by. 
And the wee pouts begun to cry. 
Lord, I'se hae sportin' by and by, 

For my gowd guinea. 
Though I should herd the buckskin 
kye 

For't in Virginia. 

Trouth, they had muckle for to blame! 
'Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But twa-three draps about the wame 

Scarce through the feathers. 
And baith a yellow George to claim 

And thole their blethers!'^ 

It pits me aye as mad's a hare; 

Bo I can rhyme nor write nae mair; 

Bat pennyworths again is fair. 

When time's expedient; 
Meanwhile I am, respected sir. 

Your most obedient. 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET. 

January^ 1783- 
David Sillar, to v/hom this epistle was 
addressed, was a native of Torbolton, a poet 
and scholar. He was for many years a 
schoolmaster at Irvine, and was latterly a 
magistrate of that town. He published a 
volume of poems in the Scottish dialect. 

Wnii.E v/inds frae aff Ben Lomond 

blaw. 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing' us owre the ingle,* 
I set me down to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In hamely westlin jingle.^ 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 

Ben to the chimla lug.'* 

'■•i Nonsense. 
' Hang. - Fu'c. ^ Homely 

west country dialect. '' Chimney corner. 



I grudge a wee the great folk's gift, 
That live sae bien= and snug; 
I tent^ less, and want less 

Their roomy fire-side; 
But hanker and canker 
To see their cursed pride. 

It's hardly in a body's power 
To keep at times frae being sour, 
To see how things are shared; 
How best o' duels'' are whiles in want, 
While coofs** on countless thousands 
rant,* 
And ken na how to wair't;'" 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash'' your head, 

Though we hae little gear, '* 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang's we're hale and fier:'^ 
"Mair spier na, nor feer na,"'* 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg,'* 
The last o't, the warst o't. 
Is only btit to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, [thin, 
When banes are crazed, and bluid is 

Is doubtless great distress ! 
Yet then content could make us blest; 
Even then, sometimes, we'd snatch a 
taste 
Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart, that's free frae a' 

Intended fraud or guile. 
However Fortune kick the ba'. 
Has aye some cause to smile: 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sma'; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa.' 

What though like commoners of air, 
We wander out we know not Avhere, 

But either house or hall ! [woods. 

Yet nature's charms — the hills and 

The sweeping vales, and foaming 

floods — 

Are free alilve to all. 

In days when daisies deck the ground, 

And blackbirds whistle clear. 
With honest joy our hearts will bound 
To see the coming year: 
On braes, when we please then. 
We'll sit and sowth'" a tune: 



^ Comfortable. " Heed. ' Men. ^ Fools, 
s Live extravagantly, i" Spend it. "Trouble. 
'^ Goods or wealth. ^-^ Whole and sound. 

'■•More ask not, nor fear not. '^Fig, '''Whistle. 



EPISTLES. 



151 



Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't, 
Aiid sing't wlien we hae dune. 

It's no in titles nor in rank: 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank 

To purchase peace and rest: 
It's no in making muckle mair;"' 
It's no in books, it's no in lear;'^ 

To make us truly blest; 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast. 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest. 

Kae treasures, nor pleasures. 
Could make us happy lang: 
The heart aye's the part aye 
That makes us right or wrang 

Think ye that sic'' as you and I, [dry, 
Wha d I'udge and drive through wet and 

Wi' never-ceasing toil; 
Tliinlc ye, are we less blest than they 
Wha scarcely teutf^" us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess ! 
13aith careless and fearless 
Of either heaven or hell 1 
E:iteeming and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce; 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less. 

By pining at our state; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I here wha sit hae met wi' some, 

An's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth; 

They let us ken oursel; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The .eal guid and ill. 
Though losses and crosses 
Be lessons right severe. 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts ! [tes, 
(To say aught less wad wrang the car- 

And flattery I detest,) 
This life has joys for you and I; 
And joys that riches ne'er could buy. 

Aud joys the very best. 

•'■ Much more. " Learning. i» Such. =" Heed. 



There's a' the pleasures o' the heart. 

The lover and the frien'; 
Ye hae your Meg,* your dearest part. 
And I my darling Jean ! 
It warms me, it charms me. 
To mention but her name: 
It heats me, it beets me. 
And sets me a' on flame ! 

Oh, all ye powers who rule above ! 
O Thou, whose very self art }ove ! 

Thou know'st my words sincere ! 
The life-blood streaming through my 

heart. 
Or my more dear immortal part, 

Is not more fondly dear ! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 

Deprive my soul of rest. 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, all-seeing, 

Oh, hear my fervent prayer ! 
Still take her and make her 
Thy most peculiar care ! 

All hail ! ye tender feelings dear ! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear. 

The sympathetic glow ! 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had number'd out ray weary days. 

Had it not been for you ! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend. 

In every care aud ill; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebrific scene. 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie or my Jean ! 

Oh, how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin','^' rank and 

Amaist''- before I ken ! "^ [file. 

The ready measure rins as fine 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 

Were gloweriu' owre my pen. 
My spaviet'^* Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het; [jimp," 
And then he'll hilch,'^^ and stilt,^'^ and 

And rin an unco fit. 



21 Dancing. 22 Almost, ^s Know. ^4 Spa- 
vined. =» Hobble. 28 Halt, "j^mp 

* Sillar's flame was a lass of the name of 
Marjjaret Orr, who had charge of the children 
of I\irs. Stewart of Stair. It was not the for- 
tune of " Meg " to become Mrs. Sillar. 



153 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But lest then, the beast then, 
Should rue''^ this hasty ride, 

I'll light now, and dight^' now 
His sweaty, wizen'd^" hide. 



EPISTLE TO JOHN LAPRAIK, 

AN OLD SCOTTISH BARD. 

April 1, 1785. 

While briers and woodbines budding 

green. 
And paitricks' scraichin^ loud at e'en. 
And morning poussie^ whiddin seen. 

Inspire my Muse, 
This freedom in an unknown f rien' 

I pray excuse. 

On Fasten-e'en we had a rockin',* 

To ca' the crack'* and weave our 

stockin'; 
And there was muckle' fun and jokin'. 

Ye needna doubt; 
At length we had a hearty yokin'^ 

At sang about. 

There was ae sang, amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleased me best, 
That some kind husband had addrest 
• To some sweet wife: 

It thirl'd the heart-strings through the 
breast, 

A' to the life.f 

I've scarce heard ought described sae 

weel, 
What generous manly bosoms feel; 
Thought I, ' ' Can this be Pope, or 
Steele, 

Or Beattie's wark ? " 
They tauld me 'twas an odd kind chiel' 
About Muirkirk. 

It pat me fidgin-fain^ to hear't. 
And sae about him there I spiert;^ 



"•■*' Repent. 2" Wipe. =" Withered. 

' Partridges. ' Screaming. ' The hare. 

* To drive the tallt. » Much. « Bout. ' Man. 

* Made me fidget with desire. " Inquired. 

* In former times young women were wont 
to meet together, eacli having her distaff or 
rock for the purpose of spinning while the 
song and the gossip went round. 

t This song is entitled, "When I upon thy 
bosom Itan.''^ 



Then a' that kent'" him round declared 

He had ingine;'' 
That nane excell'd it, few cam near't. 

It was sae fine. 

That, set him to a pint of ale. 

And either douce''' or merry tale, 

Or rhymes and sangs he'd made himsel. 

Or witty catches ■ 
'Tween Inverness and Teviotdale 

He had few matches. 

Then up I gat. and swore an aith,'^ 
Though I should pawn my pleugh and 

graith''' 
Or die a cadger poAvnie's death. 

At some dike back, 
A pint and gill I'd gie them baith 

To hear you crack. 

But, first and foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell, 
I to the crambo-jingle'^ fell. 

Though rude and rough: 
Yet crooning'** to a body's sel 

Does weel enough. 

I am nae poet, in a sense, - 

But just a rhymer, like by chance, 

And hae to learning nae pretence. 

Yet what the matter ? 
Wliene'er my Mitse does on me glance, 

I jingle at her. 

Your critic folk my cock their nose, 
And say, "How can you e'er propose. 
You, wha ken hardly verse frae prose. 

To mak a sang ? " 
But, by your leaves, my learned foes, 

Ye're maybe wrang. 

What's a' your jargon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for hoiiis Pud stools; 
If honest nature made you fuois, 

What sairs jour grammars? 
Ye'd better ta'en up spades and 
shools. 

Or knappin' -hammers. 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes,'^ 
Confuse their brains in college classes! 
They gang in stirks,'^ and come out 
asses. 

Plain trath to speak; 



'" Knew. " Genius or geniality. " Sober, 
" Oath. '* Tackle. ■' Doggerel verses, 

1' Humming. '" Blockheads. i'*Year-oJd cattle. 



EPISTLES. 



153 



And syne^* tliey think to climb Par- 
nassus 

By dint o' Greek ! 

Gie niG ae spark o' Nature's fire ! 
That's a' the learning I desire; 
Then, though I drudge through dub 
and mire 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, though hamely in attire. 
May touch the heart. 

Oh for a spunk o' Allan's^" glee, 

Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee,-' 

Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to be. 

If I can hit "it ! 
That would be lear"^''^ enough for me, 

If I could get it ! 

Now, sir, if ye hae friends enow. 
Though real friends I b'lieve are few, 
Yet, if your catalogue be fu', 

I'se no insist. 
But gif ye want ae friend that's true, 

I'm on your list. 

I winna-'' blaw about mysel; 

As ill I like my faults to tell; 

But friends and folk that wish me well. 

They sometimes roose^'* me ; 
Though I maun" own, as mony still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae wee faut'''^ they whiles lay 

to me, 
I like the lasses — Gude forgie me ! 
For mony a plack they wheedle frae 
mfe, 

At dance or fair; 
Maybe some ither thing they gie me. 
They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, or Mauchline fair, 
1 should be proud to meet you there; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to Care, 

If we forgather. 
And hae a swap"' o' rliymin' ware 

Wi' ane anither. 

The four-gill chap-^ we'se gar^^ him 
clatter. 



'3 Then. 20 Allan Ramsay, "i siy. 
22 Learning. " Will not. =* Praise. 25 Must 
^'^ Small fault, ^t An exchange. "^ Stoup. 
a» Make. 



And kirsen^" him wi' reekin' water; 
Syne we'll sit down and tak our whit- 
ter,3i 

To cheer our heart; 
And faith, we'se be acquainted better 

Before we part. 

There's naething like the honest nap- 
py !^^ 
Whar'lP^ ye e'er see men sae happy. 
Or women sonsie, saft, and sappy^* 

'Tween morn and morn, 
As them wha like to taste the drappy^' 

In glass or horn ! 

I've seen me dais't^^ upon a time, 
I scarce could wink, or see a styme;'^ 
Just ae half-mutchkin does me prime. 

Aught less is little, 
Then back I rattle on the rhyme. 

As gleg's a whittle l'^ 

Awa* ye selfish war'ly race, [grace, 
Wha thmk that havins,^^ sense, and 
E'en love and friendsliip, should give 
place 

To catch-the-plack l^o 
I dinna*' lUie to see your face. 

Nor hear your crack.'*^ 

But ye whom social pleasure charms. 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness 

warms, 
Who hold your being on the terms, 
" Each aid the others," 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms. 
My friends, my brothers. 

But to conclude my long epistle. 
As my auld pen's worn to the grissle; 
Twa lines frae you would gar m.e fis- 
sle,« 

Who am, most fervent. 
While I can either sing or whissle. 

Your friend and servant. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO LAPRAIK. 

A/rz7 21, 1785. 

While new-ca'd kye rowte' at the 

stake. 
And pownies reek'* in pleugh or braik,' 



so Christen. 3» Hearty draught. ^^ Ale. 
s' Where will. ^^ Comely. ^^ Smalldrop. 
S"* Stupid. 8' See in the least. '^ As keen as 
a knife. ^' Decorum, ^^ To seek after 
money, -n Do not. " Talk. ■«3 Fidget. 

' Driven cows low. ^ Smoke, ^ Harrow. 



154 



BURNS' WORKS. 



This Lour on e'enin's edge I take. 
To own I'm debtor 

To L.onest-liearted, auld Lapraik, 
For liis kind letter. 

Forjesket sair/ wi' weary legs, 
Rattliu' the corn out-owre the rigs. 
Or dealing through amang the naigs 

Their ten-hours' bite, 
My awkward Muse sair pleads and 



I wouldna write. 

The tapetless ramfeezled liizzie,^ 
She's saft at best, and something lazy. 
Quo' she, "Ye ken, we've been sae 
busy. 

This month, and mair. 
That, trouth, my head is grown right 
dizzy. 

And something sair. " 

Her dowfif ^ excuses pat me mad: 
"Conscience," says I, "ye thowless 

jad!' 
I'll write, and that a hearty bland, ^ 

This vera night; 
So dinna ye afEront your trade. 

But rhyme it right. 

"Shall bauld Lapraik, the king o' 

hearts. 
Though mankind were a pack o' cartes, 
Eoose you sae weel for your deserts. 

In terms sae friendly, 
Yet ye'U neglect to shaw your parts. 
And thanli him kindly?" 

Sae I gat paper in a blink,' 

And down gaed stunipie in the ink: 

Quoth I, " Before I sleep a wink, 

I vow I'll close it; 
And if ye winna mak it clink,'" 

By Jove I'll prose it! " 

Sae, I've begun to scrawl, but whether 
In rhjone, or prose, or baith thegither. 
Or some hotch-potch* that's rightly 
neither. 

Let time mak proof ; 



* Worn sore with fatigue. ^ The heedless 
and exhausted jade. " Silly. ' Lazy jade. 

* Quantity. ' Twinkling. ^^ Rhyme 

* Hotch potch is the Scotch name for a soup 
made of all sorts of vegetables. No other ex- 
planation could give a proper idea of the 
meaning of the phrase here. 



But I shall scribble down some 
blether' 1 

Just clean aff-loof.f 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge and 
carp, [sharp; 

Though Fortune use you hard and 
Come, kittle''^ up your moorland-harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how Fortune waft and 
warp; 

She's but a bitch. 

She's gien'^ me mony a jert and fieg,''* 

Sin' I could st riddle owre a rig; 

But, by the Lord, though I should beg 

Wi, lyart pow,'^ 
I'll laugh, and sing, and shake my leg, 

As lang^s I dow ! •'' 

Now comes the sax and twentieth sim- 
mer 
I've seen the bud upo' the timmer," 
Still persecuted by the limmer"* 

Frae year to year; 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer,'' 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do you envy the city gent, 

Behint a kist to lie and sklent,:|: 

Or purse-proud, big wi' cent, per cent. 

And muckle wame,^'' 
In some bit brugh to represent 

A bailie's name ? 

Or is't the paughty,'^' feudal thane, 
Wi' rufiled sark and glancing cane, 
Wha thinks himsel nae sheej)-shank 
bane. 

But lordly stalks. 
While caps and bonnets aff are ta'en,^^ 

As by he walks. 

O Thou "wha gies us each guid gift ! 

Gie me o' wit and sense a lift. 

Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

Through Scotland wide; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift, -• 

In a' their pride 1 

Were this the charter of our state, 
' ' On pain o' hell be rich and great," 



'1 Nonsense. 1= Tickle. '3 Given. " jgrk 
and kick. '^ Gray head. '" Can. " Tree. 
i»Jade. 19 Girl, "o Big belly. 21 Haughty, 
i^a Taken. 

t Scotticism for extemporaneous. 

i Behind a counter to lie and leer. 



EPISTLES. 



If 



Damnation tlien would be our fate 

Beyond remead; 
But, thanks to Heaven, that's no the 



We leam our creed. 

For thus the royal mandate ran, 
When first the human race began, 
" The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
'Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan. 

And none but he !" 

O mandate, glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers o' the Nine, 
Poor, thoughtless devils ! yet may 
shine 

In glorious light. 
While sordid sons o' Mammon's line 

Are dark as night. 

Though here they scrape, and squeeze, 

and growl. 
Their worthless nievefu'-^ of a soul 
May in some future carcase howl, 

The forest's fright; 
Or in some day-detesting ovi^l 

May shun the light. 

Then may Lapraik and Bums arise. 
To reach their native kindred skies. 
And sing their pleasures, hopes, and 
joys. 

In some mild sphere, 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passing year ! 



EPISTLE TO JOHN GOUDIE, KIL- 
MARNOCK, 

ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. 

John Goudie was a Kilmarnock tradesman. 
His Essay fully discussing- the authority of 
the Holy Scriptures, first appeared in 1780, 
and a new edition in 1785. The publication 
of the new edition called forth the following 
epistle from the poet : — 

Goudie ! terror of the Whigs, 
Dread of black coats and reverend wigs, 
Sour Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin',' looks back, 
Wishin' the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 



" Handful. 



^ Grianina 



Poor gapin', glowrin,'' Superstition, 
Waes me ! she's in a sad condition; 
Fie ! bring Black Jock,* her stato 
physician. 

To see her water; 
Alas I there's ground o' great suspicion 
She'll ne'er get better. 

Auld Orthodoxy long did grapple. 
But now she's got an unco ripple;^ 
Haste, gie her name u i' the chapel. 

Nigh unto death ; 
See how she fetches at the thrapple,* 

And gasps for breath ! 

Enthusiasm's past redemption, 
Gaen^ in a galloping consumption, 
Not a' tlie quaclis, wi' a' their gump- 
tion,"^ 

Will ever mend her. 
Her feeble pulse gies strong presump- 
tion 

Death soon will end her. 

'Tis you and Taylorf are the chief, 
Wha are to blame for this mischief; 
But gin the Lord's ain fol!?: gat leave, 

A toom' tar-barrel 
And twa red peats^ wad send relief, 

And end the quarrel. 



EPISTLE TO WILLIAM SIMPSON, 

OCHILTKEE. 

il/oj/, 1783. 

\ViUiam Simpson was schoolmaster of Ochil- 
tree, a parish a few miles south of Mauch- 
line. According- to Mr. Chambers, he had 
sent a rhymed epistle to Burns, on reading 
hisisatireof the "Twa Herds," which called 
forth the following beautiful epistle in re- 
ply:— 

I GAT your letter, winsome' Willie; 
Wi' gratefu' heart I thank vou braw- 

lie,^ 
Though I maun say't, I wad be silly, 

And unco vain. 
Should I believe, my coaxin' bil'de,* 

Your flatterin' strain. 



2 Staring, s Pains in the back and loins. 
* Throat. « Gone. « Knowledge. ' Empty. 
8 Two burning peats to set fire to the tal 
barrel. 

1 Hearty. 9 Heartily. = Fellow. 

* The Rev. John Russell, Kilmarnock, one 
of the heroes of the " Twa Herds." 

t Dr. Taylor of Norwich.— B. 



156 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Biit I'se believe ye kindly meant it, 
I sud* be laith, to think ye tinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented^ 

On my poor Musie; 
Though in sic phrasin'^ terms yeVc 
penn'd it, 

I scarce excuse ye. 

My senses wad be in a creel,* 
Should I but dare a hope to speel, 
Wi' Allan or wi' Gilbertfield.-f 

The braes o' fame; 
Or rergusson,J the writer chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(0 Fergusson, thy glorious parts 

111 suited law's dry musty arts 1 

My curse upon your whunstane hearts. 

Ye E'nbrugh gentry ! 
The tithe o' what ye waste at cartes' 

Wad stow'd* his pantry ! ) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 

Or lasses gie my heart a screed,' 

As whiles they're like to be my dead, 

(0 sad disease !) 
I kittle'" up my rustic reed; 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila§ now may fidge fu' fain," 
She's gotten poets o' her ain, [liain" 
Chiels'^ wha their chanters winna 

But tune their lays. 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

Nae poet thought her worth his while. 
To set her name in measured style; 
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle 

Beside New Holland, 
Or where wild-meeting oceans boil 

Besouth Magellan. 

Kamsay and famous Fergusson 
Gied Forth and Tay a lift aboon;'^ 



4 Should. 5 Obliquely directed. * Flatter- 
m-T. ' Cards. « Stored. " Rent, i" Tickle. 
11 Fidget with joy. i^ Fellows. " Will not 
spare, i* Above. 

* A basket. When a person's wits are sup- 
posed to be a wool-gathering, he is said to be 
in a creel. 

t Allan Ramsay, and William Hamilton of 
Gilbertfield, a forgotten poet and contempo- 
rary of Ramsay's. 

$ Robert Fergusson, the poet. 

§ An application frequently applied by 
Burns to the district of Kyle. 



Yarrow and Tweed, to mony a tune, 
Owre Scotland rings. 

While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, and Boon, 
Naebody sings. 

Th' missus, Tiber, Thames, and 

Seine, 
Glide sweet in mony a tunefu' Ime ! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine. 

And cock'^ your crest, 
We'll gar'^ our streams and burnies 
shine 

Up wi' the best. 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains and fells, 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather-bells, 
Her banks and braes, her dens and 
dells, 

Where glorious Wallace 
Aft bare the groe,'" as story tells, 
Frae southron billies. 

At Wallace' name what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide iiood ! 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace' side. 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod,'^ 

Or glorious died. 

Oh, sweet are Coila's haughs" and 

woods, [buds. 

When lintwhites chant amang the 

And jinkin"''" hares, in amorous whids,|| 

Their love enjoy. 
While through the braes the cushat 
croods-' 

With wailfu' cry ! 

Even winter bleak has charms to me. 
When winds rave through the naked 

tree ; 
Or frosts oh hills of Ochiltree 

Are hoary gray 
Or blinding drifts wild-furious flee. 

Darkening the day 1 

O Nature ! a' thy shows and forms, 
To feeling, pensive hearts haechanns! 
Whether the summer kindly warms 

Wi' life and light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms. 

The lang, dark night I 



1^ Elevate. '« Make. " Often bore the bell, 
i' Their shoes red in blood, i" Meadows. 
20 Dodging. 21 Coos. 

II A word expressive of the quick, nimble 
movements of the hare. 



EPISTLES. 



15? 



Tlie Muse, nae poet ever fand^'^ lier, 
Till by himself lie learn'd to wander, 
Adowu some trotting burn's meander, 

And no think lang; 
Oh, sweet to stray, and pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang! 

The war'ly race may drudge and drive, 
Hog-sliouther, jundie,^* stretch, and 

strive — 
Let me fair Nature's face descrive,-* 

And I, wi' pleasure. 
Shall let the busy, grumbling hive 

Bum owre-° their treasure 

Fareweel, " my rhyme - composing 
brither!" [ither:-" 

We've been owre lang unkenn'd to 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal. 
May Envy wallop*'' in a tether'^^ 

Black fiend, infernal! 

AVhile Highlandmen hate tolls and 
taxes; [braxies,^ 

While moorlan' herds like guid fat 
While terra firma on her axis 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith and practice, 

Li Robert Bukns. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

My memory's no worth a preen -P 

I had amaist forgotten clean 

Ye bade me write you what they mean 

By this New Light,*-' * 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae been 

Maist like to fight. 

In days when mankind were but cal- 

• lans^" 
At grammar, logic, and sic talents. 
They took nae pains their speech to 
balance, 

Or rules to gie,^' 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid 
lallans/^ 

Like you or me. 



^^ Found. 2' Jostle, push. '^* Describe. 
5= Hum over. ^o Xoo long unknown to 
each other. 2t Struggle. ^fRope. 29 piu_ 
s" Juveniles, ^i Give. ^^ Lowland speech. 

f Sheep which have died of disease ; and 
which are understood to belong to the shep- 
herds as their perquisites. 

** An allusion, to the " Twa Herds." 



In thae auld times, they thought the 

moon, 
Just like a sark,^^ or pair of shoon,^* 
Wore by degrees, till her last roon^* 

Gaed past their viewing, 
And shortly after she was done. 

They gat a new one. 

This pass'd for certain — undisputed: 
It ne'er cam i' their heads to doubt it, 
Till chiels^^ gat up and Avad confute it, 

And ca'd it wrang: 
And muckle din there was about it, 

Baith loud and lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the 

beuk,*" [teuk;^* 

Wad threap^^ auld folk the thing mis- 

For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a 

neuk,'*o 

And out o' sight, 
And backlins'"-comin', to the leuk'*"'^ 
SI18 grew mair bright. 

This was denied — it v/as affirm'd; 
The herd and hirsels'*^ were alarm'd; 
The reverend gray-beards raved and 
storm'd 

That beardless laddies** 
Should think they better were in- 
form'd 

Than their auld daddies** 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks; 
Frae words aud aiths to clours and 

nicks ;'"^ 
And mony a fallow gat his licks,^'' 

Wi' hearty crunt:** 
And some, to learn them for their 
tricks. 

Were hang'd and brunt. 

This game was play'd in mony lands. 
And Auld-Light caddies'** bure sic 
hands [sands 

That, faith, the youngsters took the 

Wi' nimble shanks,^" 
Till lairds forbade, by strict commands. 

Sic bluidy pranks. 

But New-Light herds gat sic a cowe,^' 
Folk thought them ruiu'd stick and 
stowe,='2 



33 Shirt. 3* Shoes. 3= Shred. "= Fellows. 
'■' Book. 38 Arg-ue. 39 Mistook. ^° Corner. 
<> Backwards. ^^ Look. ^^ Flocks. " Lads. 
^' Fathers. *« Blows and cuts. ^' Got a beat- 
ing. 4" Dint. 4» Fellows. »" Legs, ^i Such 
I a fright. ** Stump and rump. 



158 



BURNS' WORKS 



Till now amaist on every knowe^^ 
Ye'll find ane placed; 

And some their New-Light fair avow, 
Just quite barefaced. 

Nae doubt the Auld-Light flocks are 
bleatin'; [sweatin'; 

Their zealous herds are vex'd and 
Mysel, I've even seen them greetin'^^ 

Wi' girnin'=^ spite, 
To hear the moon sae sadly lied on. 

By word and write. 

But shortly they will cowe the loons !^^ 
Some Auld-Light herds in neibor towns 
Ai'o mind't, in things they ca' balloons. 

To tak a flight, 
And stay ae month amang the moons. 

And see them right. 

Guid observation they will gie them ; 
And when the auld moon's gauu to 
lea'e them, [wi' them. 

The hindmost shaird,^' they'll fetch it 

Just i' their pouch, ^^ 
And when the New-Light billies^^ see 
them, 

I think they'll crouch ! 

Sae, ye observed that a' this clatter™ 
Is naething but a "moonshine matter;" 
But though dull prose-folk Latin splat- 
ter 

In logic tulzie,^' 
I hope we bardies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie. "^ 



TfflRD EPISTLE TO JOHN 

LAPRAIK 

This epistle did not appear in either of the 
editions of his worlts which the poet saw 
through the press. It was written while in 
the midst of his second harvest, at Mossgicl 
—an unfortunate one, as it proved ; for be- 
ing both a late and a wet season, an evil 
conjunction on the cold wet soil, half the 
crops were lost. 

Septemler 13, 17S5. 

GuiD speed and furder* to you,Johnny, 
Guid health, hale ban's, and weather 
bonny; 

^3 Hillock. ">* Crying. ^^ Grinning. ^'^ 
Rascals. '■''< Shred. ^8 Pocket. ^^ Fellows. 
*° Gossip. "1 Contention. ^^ Broils. 

* Good speed and success in furtherance to 
you. 



Now when ye're nickan' down fu' 
canny 

The staff o' bread. 
May ye ne'er want a stoup o' bran'y 
To clear your head. 

May Boreas never thrash your rigs,f 
Nor kick your rickles^ aff their legs, 
Sendin' the stuff o'er muirs and haggs* 

Like drivin' wrack; 
But may the tapmast grain that wags 

Come to the sack. 

I'm bizzie too, and skelpin'* at it. 
But bitter, daudin''' showers hae wat it, 
Sae my auld stum pie pen I gat it 

Wi' muckle wark. 
And took my jocteleg" and whatf it. 

Like ony dark. 

It's now twa month that I'm your 
debtor, [tsr. 

For your braw, nameless, dateless let- 
Abusiu' me for harsh ill nature 

On holy men, 
While deil a hair yoursel ye're better. 

But mair profane. 

But let the kirk-folk ring their bells. 
Let's sing about our noble sels; 
We'll cry nae jads'^ frae heathen hills 

To help or roose^ us. 
But browster wives^'^ and whisky stills. 

They are the muses. 

Your friendship, sir, I winna quat it> 
And if ye mak objections at it, 
Then han' in nieve" some day we'll 
knot^^ it. 

And witness take. 
And when wi' usquebae we've wat it. 

It winna break. 

But if the beast and branks'^ be spared 
Till kye be gaun'* without the herd. 
And a' the vittel'^ in the yard, 

And theekit'* right, 
I mean your ingle-side to guard 

Ae winter night. 



' Cutting. "^ Stooks or shocks of corn. 
^Morasses. * Driving at it. ^"Wind-driven. 
^ Clasp-knife. ' Cut or sharpened it. ^ Muses. 
^ Rouse. '° Ale-house wives. " Hand in fist. 
" Bind. " Bridle. ^ Going. " Victual, 
i^ Thatched. 

t May Boreas never shake the corn in yont 
ridges. 



EPISTLES. 



159 



Theu muse-inspirin' aqua vitae [witty, 
Shall make us baitli sae blithe and 
Till ye forget ye're auld and gatty," 

And be as canty'" [ty. " 

As ye wore nine years less than tliret 

Sweet ane and twenty ! 

But stooks are cowpit^" wi' the blast, 
And now the sinn keeks^' in the west, 
Then I maun rin amang the rest, 

And quat my chanter; 
Sae I subscribe myself in haste. 

Yours, llAB THE Ranter. 



EPISTLE TO THE EEV. JOHN 
M'MATH. 

Tha Rev. John M'Math was at this time assist- 
ant to the Rev. Peter Wodrow of Torbolton. 
As a copy of " Holy WiUie's Prayer" accom- 
panied the epistle, we need hardly say he 
v/as a member of the New-light party. 
The ble^ ungenial harvest v/eather is very 

, graphically pictured in the first verse. 

September 17, 1785. 

While at the stook the shearers' cower 
To shun the bitter blaudin- shower. 
Or in gulravage rinnin' scower^ 

To pass the time, 
To you I dedicate the hour 

In idle rhyme. 

My Musie, tired wi' mony a sonnet 
On gown, and ban', and douce-* black 

bonnet, 
Is grown right eerie^ now she's done it, 
• Lest they should blame her, 

And rouse their holy thunder on it 
And anathem her. 

I own 'twas rash, and rather hardy, 
That I, a simple country bardie. 
Should meddle wi' a pack sae sturdy, 

Wha, if they ken me, 
Can easy, w^i' a single wordie, 

Lowse hell upon me. 

But I gae mad at their grimaces. 
Their sighin', cantin', grace-proud 
faces, 



" Frail. »8 Happy. i» Thirty. 20 Over- 
turned, '-^i Sun blinks. 

' Harvest people. " Pelting. ^ Run riotous- 
ly for amusement. ^ Sedate, ^ Timorous. 



Their three-mile prayers, and half-mile 
graces; 

Their raxin'^ conscience, 
Wliase greed, revenge, and pride dis- 
graces 

Waur nor'' their nonseiise. 

There's Gawn,* misca't^ waur than a 

beast, 
Wha has mair honour in his breast 
Than mony scores as guid's the priest 

Wha sae abus't him. 
And may a bard no crack his jest 

What way they've use't him? 

See him, the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and deed, 
And shall his fame and honour bleed 

By worthless skellums,' 
And not a muse erect her liead 

To CO we the blellums V^ 

O Pope, had I thy satire's darts. 
To gie the rascals their deserts, 
I'd rip their rotten, hollow hearts. 

And tell aloud. 
Their jugglin' hocus-pocus arts. 

To cheat the crowd- 
God knows, I'm no the thing I should 

be. 
Nor am I even the thing I could be. 
But twenty times I rather would be 

An atheist clean. 
Than under gospel colours hid be 

Just for a screen. 

An honest man may like a glass. 
An honest man may like a lass. 
But mean revenge, and malice fause," 

He'll still disdain. 
And then cry zeal for gospel laws. 

Like some we ken. 

They take religion in their mouth; 
They talk o' mercy, grace, and truth. 
For what ?— to gie their malice skouth'*^ 

On some puir wight,''' 
And hunt him down, o'er right and 
ruth,''* 

To ruin straight. 



^ Stretching. ^ Worse than. ^ Misnamed. 
" Wretches. '» Fellows, i* False. '^ Scope. 
13 Fellow. " Mercy. 

* Gavin Hamilton, Esq. , 



160 



BURNS' WORKS. 



All liail, Religion ! maid divine ! 
Pardon a Muse sae mean as mine, 
Who, in her rough imperfect line, 

Thus daurs to name thee; 
To stigmatise false friends of thine 

Can ne'er defame thee. 

Though bloclit and foul wi' mony a 

stain. 
And far unworthy of thy train. 
With trembling voice I tune my strain 

To join with those 
Who boldly daur thy cause maintain 

In spite o' foes; 

In spite o* crowds, in spite o' mobs. 
In spite o' undermining jobs. 
In spite o' dark banditti stabs 

At worth and merit. 
By scoundrels, even wi' holy robes. 

But hellish spirit. 

O Ayr ! my dear, my native ground, 
Witiiin thy presbyterial bound, 
A candid liberal band is found 

Of public teachers. 
As men, as Christians too, renown'd, 

And manly preachers. 

Sir, in that circle you are named; 
Sir, in that circle you are famed; 
And some, by whom your doctrine's 
blamed, 

(Wliicli gies you honour), 
Even, sir, by them your heart's es- 
teem'd. 

And winning manner. 

Pardon this freedom I have ta'en, 
And if impertinent I've been. 
Impute it not, good sir, in ane 

Whase heart ne'er wrang'd ye, 
But to his utmost would befriend 

Ought that belang'd ye. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET. 

AuLD Neibor, 
I'm three times doubly o'er your debtor, 
For your auld-farrant' friend'ly letter; 
Though I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter. 

Ye speak sae fair. 
For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter 
Some less maun sair.^ 



* Sagacious. * Must serva. 



Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle; 
Langmayyour elbuck jink and diddle,^ 
To cheer you through the weary widdle* 

0' war'ly cares. 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle* 

Your auld gray hairs. 

But, Davie, lad, I'm rede ye're glakit;' 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit; 
And gif it 's sae, ye sud be licket' 

Until ye fyke;^ 
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit,' 

Be haint"* wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink 
Rivin'" the words to gar'"^ them clink; 
Wliiles dais't'^ wi' love, whiles dais't 
wi' drink, 

Wi' jads or masons; 
And whiles, but aye owre late, 1 think 

Braw sober lessons. 

Of a' the thoughtless sons o' man, 
Commen' me to the bardie clan; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhymin' clink. 
The devil-haet," that I sud ban. 

They ever think. 

Nae thought, nae view, nae scheme o' 

livin', 
Nae cares to gie us joy or grievin'; 
But just the pouchie^^ put the nieve'* 
in, 

And while ought's there. 
Then hiltie skiltie'' we gae scrievin','* 
And fash'^ nae mair. 

Leeze me-" on rhyme ! its aye a treas- 
ure. 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
\.t hame, a-fiel', at wark, or leisure. 

The Muse, poor hizzie!^^ 
■JTiough rough and raploch^^ be her 
measure, 

She's seldom lazy. 

Haud to the Muse, my dainty Davie, 
The warl may play you mony a sha- 

yJg.-23 



3 Elbow dodg^e and jerk. * Strugg^le. * 
Fondle. ° I fear you are foolish. ' Should 
be beaten. ^ Shrug. * Spared, i" Saved. 
'"Twisting. » 2 Make. »3 gtupid. "The 
devil a bit. '^ Pocket. " Fist. »t Helter 
skelter, "s Go smoothly, is Trouble. 20 a 
term of endearment, an expression of happi- 
ness or pleasure. '■'1 Lass. ^'^ Coarse, *' Trick. 



EPISTLES. 



161 



But for tlie Muse she'll never leave ye, 
Though e'er so puir, 

Na, even though limpin' wi' the spa- 
vie"''* 

Frae door to door. 



EPISTLE TO JAMES SMITH. 

James Smith, one of Burns' earliest friends, 
was a merchant in Mauchhne. He was 
present at the scene in " Poosie Nansie's," 
which suggested " The Jolly Beggars." 

" Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul ! 
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society ! 
I owe thee much."— Blair. 

Dear Smith, the sleest,' paukie^ thief. 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief,* 
Ye surely hae some warlock breef* 

Owre human hearts; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief* 

Against your arts. 

For me, I swear by sun and moon. 
And every star that blinks aboon, 
I'e've cost me twenty pair of shoon® 

Just gaun to see you; 
And every ither pair that's done, 

Mair ta'en I'm wi' you. 

Thai auld capricious carlin,'' Nature, 
To mak amends for scrimpit^ stature, 
She's turn'd you aff, a human creature 

On her first plan; 
And in her freaks, on every feature 

She's wrote, "The Man." 

Jnst now I've ta'en the fit o' rhyme, 
My barmie' noddle's working prime. 
My fancy yerkit'" up sublime 

Wi' hasty summon: 
Hae ye a leisure moment's time 

To hear what's comin'? 

Some rhyme a neibor's name to lash; 
Some rhyme (vain thought!) for needfu' 
cash; [clash," 

Some rhyme to court the country 

And raise a din,''' 
For me, an aim I never fash;'* 
I rhyme for fun. 



'''' Spavin. 

• Slyest. " Knowing. " Robbery. ■• Spell. 

• Proof. * Shoes. ' Woman. * Stinted. 

'Yeasty ''Fermented. "Gossip, '^ N^ise. 

*' Trouble. 



The star that rules my luckless lot 

Has fated me the russet coat. 

And damn'd my fortune to the groat; 

But in requit. 
Has blessed me wi' a randon. shot 

O' country wit. 

This while my notion's ta'en a sklent, '^ 
To try my fate in guid black prent; 
But still, the mair I'm that way bent^ 

Something cries, "Hoolie!'* 
I rede'^ you, honest man, tak tent,''' 
Ye'll shav/ your folly. 

"There's ither poets much your betters. 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thought they had insured their 
debtors 

A' future ages; 
Now moths deform in shapeless tatters 

Their unknown pages." 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs. 
To garland my poetic brows! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy 
ploughs 

Are whistling thrang. 
And teach the lanely heights and 
howes'* 

My rustic sang. 

I'll wander on, with tentless'' heed 
How never halting moments speed. 
Till Fate shall snap the brittle thread ; 

Then, all-unknown, 
I'll lay me with inglorious dead, 

Forgot and gone! 

But why o' death begin a tale ? 

Just now we're living sound and hale, 

Then top and maintop crowd the sail, 

Heave Care owre side ! 
And large, before Enjoyment's gale. 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand. 

Is a' enchanted fairy-land. 

Where Pleasure is the magic wand, 

That, wielded right, 
Maks hours like minutes, hand in hand. 

Dance by f u' light. 

The magic wand then let us vrield, 
For, ancethat five-and forty's speel'd,'" 



'< Twist. '= Beware. '» Warn. >' Care. 
" KoUo-.vs. " Aimless. " Climbed. 



163 



BURNS' WORKS. 



See, crazy, weary, joyless Eild,''' 
Wi' wrinkled face, 

Comes liostin',^'^ liirplin',^* owre tlie 
field, 

Wi' creepin' pace. 

When ance life's day draws near tlie 

gloamin', 
Then f areweel vacant careless roamin' ; 
And f areweel clieerf u' tankards f oamin' 

And social noise; 
And fareweel, dear deluding woman ! 

The joy of joys ! 

O life ! how pleasant is thy morning, 

Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning ! 

Cold -pausing Caution's lesson scorning, 
We frisk away, [ing. 

Like schoolboys, at the expec*'ed warn- 
To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here. 
We eye the rose upen the brier. 
Unmindful that the thorn is near. 

Among the leaves ; 
And though the puny wound appear. 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flowery spot, 
For which they never toil'd or swat;'''^ 
They drinlt the sweet and eat the fat 

But care or pain; 
And, haply, eye the barren hut 

With high disdain. 

With steady aim some fortune chase; 
Keen hope "does every sinew brace; 
Through fair, through foul, they urge 
the race 

And seize the prey: 
Then cannie,"^* in some cozie''^* place, 

They close the day. 

And others like your humble servan', 
Poor wights l'^'' nae rules nor rodes ob- 

servin' 
To right or left, eternal swervin'. 

They zig-zag on; [vin'. 
Till curst with age, obscure and star- 
They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil and straining — 
But truce Avith peevish, poor complain- 
ing ! 



"1 Asfe. 22 Coug-hina'. ^^ Limping^. 

'* Sweated. 26 Quietly. _** Snug. 27 Fellows, 



Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning'? 

E'en let her gang ! 
Beneath what light she has remaining, 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door. 

And kneel, ' ' Ye Powers I" and warm 

inaplore, 
" Though I should wander Terra o'er, 

In all her climes, 
Grant me but this, I ask no more. 

Aye rowth^^ o' rhymes. 

" Gie dreeping roasts to country lairds, 
Till icicles hing frae their beards; 
Gie fine braw claes to fine life-guards. 

And maids of honour ! 
And yill and whisky gie to cairds,'^^ 

Until they scomier,"*^ 

" A title, Dempster* merits it; 

A garter gie to Willie Pitt; 

Gie wealth to some be-ledger'd cit. 

In cent, per cent. ; 
But gie me real, sterling wit. 

And I'm content. 

' ' While ye are pleased to keep me 

hale, 
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
Be't water-brose, or muslin-kail,^' 

Wi' cheerfu' face. 
As lang's the Muses dinna fail 

To say the grace. " 

An anxious ee I never throws 

Behint my lug^^ or by my nose ; 

I jouk^^ beneath Misfortune's blows 

As weel's I may. 
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Prose, 

I rhyme away. 

ye douce^* folk, that live by rule. 
Grave, tideless-blooded, calm and cool. 
Compared wi' you — fool! fool! fool! 

How much unlike! 
Your hearts are just a standing pool. 

Your lives a dilie!^* 

Nae harebrain'd, sentimental traces. 
In your unletter'd nameless faces! 



28 Abundance. 29 Tinkers. 5° Are nauseated. 
3' Broth made without meat. '2 Ear. 

^3 Stoop. 34 Serious. ^^ Blank as a wall. 
♦ George Dempster of Dunnichen, a parlia- 
mentary orator of the time. 



EPISTLES. 



163 



In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray, 
Bat gravissimo, solemn basses 

Ye hum away. 

Te are sae grave, nae doubt ye' re wise; 

Nae ferly^'* thougli ye do despise 

The hairum-scairum, ram-stam^^ boys. 

The rattling squad. 
I see you upward cast your eyes 

Ye ken the road. 

Whilst T — ^but I shall hand me there — 
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where — 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair 

But quat my sang. 
Content wi' you to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



EPISTLE TO GAVIN HAMILTON, 

Esq., 

recommending a boy 

Gavin Hamilton, solicitor in Mauchline, was 
a warm and generous friend of the poet's, 
a New-Light partisan who had suffered 
from Auld-Light persecutions. 

MosGAViLLE, May 3, 1786. 

I HOLD it, sir, my bounden duty 

To warn you how that Master Tootie, 

Alias, Laird M'Gaun, 
Was here to hire yon lad away 
'Bout whom ye spak the tither day. 

And wad hae done't aff han' ;' 
But lest he learn the callan^ tricks. 

As, faith, I muckle doubt him. 
Like scrapin' out auld Crummie's 
nicks. 
And tellin' lies about them: 
As lieve* then, I'd have then, 

Your clerkship he should sair, 
If sae be, ye may be 
Not fitted other where. 

Although I say't, he's gleg* enough. 
And 'bout a house that's rude and 
rough. 
The boy might learn to swear, 
But then wi' you he'll be sae taught, 



' Off-hand. 
« Sharp. 



" Wonder, 5' Reckless, 

Boy. * More willingly. 



And get sic fair example straught, 

I haena ony fear. 
Ye'll catechise him every quirk, 
And sliore^ him weel wi' hell; 
And gar** him follow to the iiirk — 
Aye when ye gang yoursel. 
If ye then, maun be then 

Frae hame this comin' Friday; 
Then please sir, to lea'e, sii-. 
The orders wi' your lady. 

My word of honour I hae gien. 

In Paisley John's, that night at e'en. 

To meet the warld's worm -^ 
To try to get the twa to gree. 
And name the airles* and the fee, 

In legal mode and form. 
I ken he weel a sneck can draw,* 

When simple bodies let him; 
And if a devil be at a'. 

In faith he's sure to get him. 
To phrase you, and praise you, 
Yc ken your laureate scorns ; 
The prayer still, you share still. 
Of grateful Minstrel Burns. 



POETICAL INVITATION TO MR. 
JOHN KENNEDY. 

This rhymed epistle was accompanied by _a 

Erose letter, and a copy of the " Cotter's 
aturday Night " Kennedy had interested 
himself greatly in the success of the Kilmar- 
nock edition of the poems. He was after- 
wards factor to the Marquis of Breadal- 
bane. 

Now Kennedy, if foot or horse 
E'er bring you in by Mauchline corse, ^ 
Lord, man, there's lasses there wad 
force 

A hermit's fancy; [Avorse, 
And down the gate, in faith they're 

And mair unchancy. 

But, as I'm sayin', please step to Dow's, 
And taste sic gear as Johnnie brews. 
Till some bit callant^ bring me news 

That you are there, 
And if we dinna haud a bouze 

I'se ne'er drink mair. 



^ Threaten. ® Make. ' Avaricious crea- 
ture. 8 Earnest money. ^ Can take advant-. 
age. 

' Mauchline market cross. ^ Boy 



164 



BURNS' WORKS. 



It's no I like to sit and swallow, 
Then like a sv/ine to puke and wallow; 
But gie me just a true good fallow, 

Wi' right ingine,'' 
And spunkie,'' ance to make us mellow, 

And then we'll shine. 

Now, if ye're ane o' warld's folk, 
Wha rate the wearer by the cloak. 
And sklent*" on poverty their joke, 

Wi' bitter sneer, 
Wi' you no friendship will I troke,^ 

Nor cheap nor dear. 

But if, as I'm informed weel. 

Ye hate, as ill's the very deil. 
The flmty heart that canna feel — 

Come, sir, here's tae you ! 
Hae, there's my haun', I wiss you weel. 

And guid be wi' you. 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 

This epistle was addressed to Andrew Aiken, 
the son of his old friend Robert Aiken, writer 
in Ayr, Andrew Aiken afterwards earned 
distinction in the service of his country. 

A/ajy, 17S6. 

I LANG hae thought, my youthfu' 
friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Though it should serve nae other end 

Than just a kind memento. 
But how the subject- theme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine. 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps turn out a sermon, 

Ye'll try the world fu' soon my lad, 

And, Andrew dear, believe me. 
You'll find mankind an unco squad,' 

And muckle they may grieve ye; 
For care and trouble set your thought. 

Even when your end's attain'd, 
And a' your views may come to nought, 

Where every nerve is strain'd. 

I'll no say men are villains a' ; 

The real, harden'd, wicked, 
Wha hae nae check but human law, 

Are to a few restricked ; 



' Genius or temperament. * Whisky is 
meant. * Throw. * Exchange. 

* Queer lot. 



But, och ! mankind are unco* weak, 

And little to be trusted; 
If self the wavering balance shake. 

It's rarely right adjusted ! 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife. 

Their fate we shouldna censure. 
For still the important end of life 

They equally may answer; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Though poortith^ hourly stare him ; 
A man may tak a neibor's part. 

Yet hae na cash to spare him. 

Aye free aff han' ■• your story tell, 

When wi' a bosom crony ;5 
But still keep something to yoursel 

Ye scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel, as weel's ye can 

Frae critical dissection; 
But keek^ through every other man, 

Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 

The sacred lowe o' weel-placed love. 

Luxuriantly indulge it; 
But never tempt the illict rove, 

Though naething should divulge it: 
I waive the quantum o' the sin. 

The hazard of concealing; 
But, och ! it hardens a' within, 

And petrifies the feeling ! 

To catch dame Fortune's golden smile, 

Assiduous wait upon her; 
And gather gear'' by every wile 

That's justified by honour; 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train-attendant. 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent. 

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip 

To haud the wretch in order; 
But where ye feel your honour grip, 

Let that aye be your border; 
Its slightest touches, instant pause — 

Debar a' side pretenses, 
And resolutely keep its laws. 

Uncaring consequences. 

The great Creator to revere 

Must sure become the creature; 

But still the preaching cant forbear. 
And even the rigid feature: 



2 Ver>'. 8 Poverty. ■■ Ofl-hand. ' Boca 
companion. ° Look pryingly. ' Wealth. 



EPISTLES. 



165 



Yet. ne'er witli wits profane to range, 

Be complaisance extended ; 
An atheist laugli's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended! 

When ranting round in Pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded; 
Or if she gie a random sting. 

It may belittle minded; 
But when on life we're tempest-driven, 

A conscience but a canker — 
A correspondence fix'd wi' Keaven 

Is sure a noble anchor! 

Adieu, dear, amiable youth! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting! 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth 

Erect your brow undaunting ! 
In ploughman phrase, " God send you 
speed," 

Still daily to grow wiser: 
And may you better reck the rede 

Than ever did th' adviser! 



EPISTLE TO MR. M'ADAM OP 
CRAIGENGILLAN. 

The following was written on receiving a let- 
ter, congratulating him on his poetic efforts, 
from Mr. M'Adam. 

Sir, o'er a gill I gat your card, 

1 trow' it made me proud ; 
*'See wha taks notice o' the bard!" 

I lap'^ and cried f u' loud. 

Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, 
The senseless, gawky^ million; 

I'll cock my nose aboon them a'^ 
I'm roos'd* by Craigengillan! 

*Twas noble, sir; 'twas like yoursel, 
To grant your high protection- 

A great man's smile, ye ken fu' well, ■ 
Is aye a blest infection. 

Though by his* banes wha in a tub 
Match'd Macedonian Sandy If 

On my ain legs, through dirt and dub, 
I independent stand aye. 



> Vow. » Leaped, s siWy, 

* Diogenes. 

t Alexander the Great. 



* Praised. 



And when those legs to guid warm 
kail,= 

V/i' welcome canna bear me; 
A lee dike-side,'' a sybow^ tail. 

And barley scone^ shall cheer me. 

Heaven spare you lang to kiss the 
breath 

0' mony flowery simmers! 
And bless yoiir bonny lasses baith — 

I'm tauld they're loe'some kimmersl' 

And God bless young Dunaskin's laixd , 
The blossom of our gentry ! 

And may he wear an auld man's beard, 
A credit to his country. 



EPISTLE TO MAJOR LOGAN. 

Major Logan, a retired military officer, lived 
at Park House, near Ayr, with his mother 
and sister — the latter the Miss Logan to 
whom Burns addressed some verses, with a 
present of Beattie's poems. 

Hail, thairm' inspirin', rattlin' Willie! 
Though Fortune's road be rough and 

hilly 
To every fiddling, rhyming billie, . 

We never heed, 
But tak it like the unback'd filly. 

Proud o' her speed. 

V/hen idly goavan''^ whiles we saunter, 
Yirr, Fancy barks, awa' we canter. 
Up hill, down brae, till some mischan- 
ter,2 

Some black bog -hole, 
Arrests us, then the scaith and banter 

We're forced to thole.'* 

Hale be your heart! hale be your fiddle! 

Lang may your elbuck jink and dld- 

dle,*5 [dle« 

To cheer you through the weary wid-. 

O' this wide warl'. 
Until you on a cummock driddle'' 

A gray-hair'd carl. 



^ Broth. ' A shadv wall-side. ^ The young 
onion. ^ Cake. ' Heart-enticing creatures. 

> Fiddle-string- ^ Walking aimlessly ^ Mis- 
hap. * Bear. * Elbow dodge and jerk- 
* Struggle. ' Until you hobble on a stafL 

* These two lines also occur in the Second 
Epistle to Davie. . 



166 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Come wealth, come poortitli'* late or 
soon, [tune, 

Heaven send your heart-strings aye in 
And screw your temper-pins aboon, 

A fifth or mair, 
The melancholious, lazy croon' 

O' cantrie care! 

May still your life from day to day 

Nae lente largo in the play, 

But allegretto forte gay 

Harmonious flow; 

A sweeping, kindling, bauld strath- 
spey- 
Encore! Bravo! 

A blessing on the cheery gang 
Wha dearly like a jig or sang, 
And never think o' right and wrang 

By square and rule. 
But as the clegs'" o' feeling stang 

Are wise or fool! 

My hand- waled' 1 curse keep hard in 
chase [race, 

The harpy, hoodock,'^ purse-proud 
Wha count on poortith as disgrace — 

Their tuneless hearts ! 
May fireside discords jar a base 
To a' their parts! 

But come, your hand, my careless 

brither — 
I' th' ither warl', if there's anither — 
And that there is I've little swither'^ 

About the matter — 
We cheek for chow''* shall jog the- 
gither, 

I'se ne'er bid better. 

We've faults and failings — granted 

clearly. 
We're frail backsliding mortals merely, 
Eve's bonny squad, priests wyte'-^ them 
sheerly,'^ 

For our grand fa' [ly — 
But still — but still — I like them dear- 
God bless them a' ! 

Oclion ! for poor Castalian drinkers, 
When they fa' foul o' earthly jinkers," 



8 Poverty. * Drone. *" Gadflies. -' Chosen. 
>2 Money-loving, 's Doubt '* Jole. ■"' Blame. 
"Sorely, J' Sprightly girls. 



The witching, cursed, delicious blink- 
ers'* 

Hae put me hyte, '^ [ers, -' 
And gart me weet my waukrife wink- 

Wi' girnin"'^' spite. 

But by yon moon ! — and that's high 

swearin' — 
And every star within my hearin' ! 
And by her een wha was a dear ane If 

I'll ne'er forget; 
I hope to gie the jads-'- a clearin' 

In fair play yet. 

My loss I mourn, but not repent it, 
I'll seek my pursie whare I tint it,'''^ 
Ance to the Indies I were wonted. 

Some cantrip^* hour. 
By some sweet elf I'll yet be dinted. 

Then, Vive I' amour! 

Faites mes haisemains respectueuses. 

To sentimental sister Susie, 

And honest Lucky ; no to roose^" ye. 

Ye may be proud, 
That sic a couple Fate allows ye 

To grace your blood. 

Nae mair at present can I measure. 
And troutli my rhymin' ware's nae 
treasure; [leisure, 

But when in Ayr, some half hour's 

Be't light, be't dark, 
Sir Bard will do himsel the pleasure 
To call at Park. 

RoBEiiT Burns. 

MOSSGIEL, Oct. 30, 1786. 

TO THE GUIDWIFE OF WAU- 
CHOPE HOUSE. 

Mrs. Scott of Wauchope, to whom this epistle 
was addressed, was a lady of considerable 
taste and talent, a writer of verse, and 
something of an artist. She was niece to 
Mrs. Cockburn, authoress of a beautiful 
version of " The Flowers of the Forest." 

GUIDWIFE, 
I mind it weel, in early date, [blate,* 
When I was beardless, young, and 

And first could thrash the barn, 

"' Pretty girls. '^ Mad. ^° Sleepy eyelids. 
2> Grinning. 22 Lasses. 23 Lost. =4 Witch- 
ing. 25 Praise. 

> Bashful. 

t An allusion to the unfortunate termination 
ol his courtship with jean Armour. 



EPISTLES. 



167 



Or haud a yokin' at the pleugli; 
And though forfoughten"^ sair eneugh. 
Yet unco proud to learn: 

When first amang the yellow corn 

A man I reckon'd was, 
And wi' the lave^ ilk merry morn 
Could rank my rig and lass. 
Still shearing, and clearing, 

The tither stocked raw, 

Wi' claivers and haivers* 

Wearing the day awa'. 

Even then, a wish, (I mind its power,) 
A wish that to my latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my breast — 
That I fur poor auld Scotland's sake. 
Some usef u' plan or beuk could make, 

Or sing a sang at least. 
The rough burr-thistle, spreading wide 

Amang the bearded bear, 
I tum'd the weeder-clips aside. 
And spared the sjanbol dear: 
No nation, no station. 

My envy e'er could raise, 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praise. 

But still the elements o' sang, 

In formless jumble right and wrang. 

Wild floated in my brain; 
Till on that hairst^ I said before. 
My partner in the merry core. 

She roused the forming strain: 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean,^ 

That lighted up my jingle, 
Her witching smile, her pauky een. 
That garf my heart-strings tingle ! 
I fired, inspired, 

At every kindling keek,^ 
But bashing and dashing, 
I feared aye to speak. 

Health to the sex ! ilk guid chieP says, 
Wi' merry dance in winter-days, 

And we to share in common : 
The gust o' joy, the balm of woe, 
The saul o' life, the heaven below, 

is rapture-giving woman. 
Ye surly sumphs, '" who hate the name, 

Be mindfu' o' your mither: 
She, honest woman, may think shame 

That ye're connected with her. 



' PatigTaed. ^ Rest. * Idle stories and gossip. 
• Harvest. ^ Comely lass- '' Made. " Glance. 
» Fellow. i» Blockheads. 



Ye're wae" men, ye're nae men. 
That slight the lovely dears; 

To shame ye, disclaim ye. 
Ilk honest birkie^- swears. 

For you, no bred to barn and byre, 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre. 
Thanks to you for your line: 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare 
By me should gratefully be ware;'' 

'Twad please me to the Nine. 
I'd be mair vauntie^* o' my hap,^^ 

Douce hingin''" owre my curple," 
Than ony ermine ever lap. 
Or proud imperial purple. 

Fareweel then, lang heal then. 

And plenty be your fa'; 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan'^ ca' ! 



EPISTLE TO WILLIAJNI CREECH. 

William Creech was the publisher of the first 
Edinburgh edition of the poet's works. He 
was the most celebrated publisher of his 
time in Edinburgh ; and :t was his good 
fortune to be the medium through which 
the works of the majority of that band of 
eminent men who made Edinburgh the 
head-quarters of literature during the latter 
half of the eighteenth century, passed to 
the world. This epistle was written during 
the poet's Border tour, and while Creech 
was in London. 

Atild chuckle' Reekie's"'^ sair distrest 
Down droops her ance weel-burnisht 

crest, 
Nae joy her bonny buskit' nest 

Can yield ava,^ 
Her darling bird that she lo'es best, 

Willie's awa'! 

Willie was a witty wight, ^ 
And had o' things an unco slight;^ 
Auld Reekie aye he keepit tight. 
And trig and braw: 
But now they'll busk her like a fright- 
Willie's awa' ! 

The stiffest o' them a' he bow'd ; 
The bauldest o' them a' he cow'd; 



II Woeful. "Fellow. ' 3 Worn. » proud. 
I'' Covering. *' Bravely hanging. ^^ Rump. 
18 Porch. 

• Literally a hen. ^ Edinburgh. ^ Decor- 
ated. 4 At all. 6 Fellow. * A great knowl- 
edge. 



168 



BURNS' WORKS, 



They durst nae mair than he aliow'd, 
That was a law. 

We've lost a birkie'' weel worth gowd — 
Willie's awa' ! 

Now gawkies, tawpies, gowks/ and 

fools, 
Frae colleges and boarding-schools, 
May sprout like simmer puddock'- 
stools 

In glen or shaw; 
He wha could brush them down to 
mools'" — 

Willie's awa' ! 

The brethren o' the Commerce- Cliau- 
mer* [our; 

May mourn their loss wi' doolfu' clam- 
He was a dictionar and grammar 

Ainang them a' ; 
I fear they'll now mak mony a stam- 
mer" — 

Willie's awa' ! 

Nae mair we see his levee door 
Philosophers and poets pour, 
And toothy critics by the score, 

In bloody raw ! 
The adjutant o' a' the core 

Willie's awa' ! 

Now worthy Gregory's f Latin face, 
Tytler's X and Greenfield's § modest 

grace, 
Mackenzie, || Stewart,Tf sic a brace 

As Rome ne'er saw; 
They a' maun'* meet some ither place — 

Willie's awa' ! 

Poor Burns — e'en Scotch drink canna 
quicken, [en, 

He cheeps'* like some bewilder'd chick- 
Scared frae its minnie''* and the cleck- 
in'5 

By hoodie-craw; 
Grief's gien his heart an unco kickin' — 
Willie's awa ! 

'' Fellow. 8 Simpletons, sluts — gowk means 
literally cuckoo, also a fool. " Toad. '" The 
dust. "Stumble. '2 Must. i3 Chirps. >* 
Mother, i*" Brood. 

* The Chamber of Commerce, of which 
Creech was secretary. 

t Dr. James Gregory. 

t Tytler of Woodhouselee. 

§ Professor- of Rhetoric in the University. 

II Henry Mackenzie. 

1 Dugald Stewart. 



Now every sour-mou'd girnin' blel- 

lum,^'' 
And Calvin's folk, are fit to fell him ; 
And self-conceited critic skellum'^ 
His quill may draw; 
He wha could brawlie'^ ward their bel- 
lum'3— 

Willie's awa' ! 

Up wimpling stately Tweed I've sped, 
And Eden scenes on crystal Jed, 
And Ettrick banks now roaring red, 

While tempests blaw; 
But every joy and pleasure's fled — 

Willie's awa'! 

May I be Slander's common speech; 
A text for Infamy to preach; 
And lastly, streekit^" out to bleach 

In winter snaw, 
When I forget thee, Willie Creech, 

Though far awa' ! 

May never wicked Fortune touzle^' himl 
May never wicked men bamboozle'-''' 

him ! 
Until a pow-3 as auld's Methusalem 

He canty^'* claw ! 
Then to the blessed New Jerusalem, 

Fleet wing awa' ! 



EPISTLE TO HUGH PARKER. 

Mr. Hugh Parker was a Kilmarnock merchant, 
and an early friend and admirer of the 
poet's.' 

In this strange land, this uncouth 

clime, 
A land unknown to prose or rhyme; 
Where words ue'er crost the muse'3 

heckles,* 
Nor limpet' in poetic shackles; 
A land that Prose did never view it. 
Except when drunk he stachert^ 

through it; 
Here, ambusli'd by the chimla cheek,* 
Hid in an atmosphere of reek,"* 
I hear a wheel thrum i' the neuk,' 
I hear it — for in vain I leuk. 



1" Talking fellow. '' A term of contempt. 
>8 Easily. i» Attacks. 2» Stretched. «' Teaze. 
22 Bother. 23 Head. 24 Cheerful. 

' Limped. 2 Staggered. = Chimney corner. 
* Smoke. * Corner. 

* A series of sharp-pointed spikes through 
which flax is drawn in dressing it for manU'. 
facture. Its application here is obvious. j 



EPISTLES. 



169 



The red peat gleams, a fiery kernel, 
Enhusked by a fog infernal: 
Here, for my wonted rhyming raptures, 
I sit and count my sins by chapters; 
For life and spunk like ither Christians, 
I'm dwindled down to mere existence; 
Wi' nae converse but Gallowa bodies, 
Wi' nae kenn'd face but Jenny Ged- 

des.f 
Jenny, my Pegasean pride ! 
Dowie^ she saunters down Nithside, 
And aye a westlin leak she throws. 
While tears hap' o'er her auld brown 

nose ! 
Was it for this wi' canny^ care, 
Thou bure the bard through many a 

shire ? 
At howes^ or hillocks never stumbled. 
And late or early never grumbled ? 
Oh, had I power like inclination, 
I'd heeze'" thee up a constellation, 
To canter -svith the Sagitarre, 
Or loup the ecliptic like a bar; 
Or turn the pole like any arrow; 
Or, when auld Phoebus bids good-mor- 
row, 
Down the zodiac urge the race. 
And cast dirt on his godship's face; 
For I could lay my bread and kail 
He'd ne'er cast saut upo' thy tail. 
Wi' a' this care and a' this grief. 
And sma,' sma' prospect of relief. 
And nought but peet-reek i' my head, 
How can I write what ye can read ? 
Torbolton, twenty-fourth o' June, 
Ye'U find me in a better tune : 
But till we meet and weef our whistle, 
Tak this excuse for nae ei^istle. 

Robert Burns. 



FIRST EPISTLE TO R. GRAHAM, 

ESQ., OF FINTRY. 

Robert Graham of Fintry was a Commis- 
sioner of Excise. 

When Nature her great masterpiece 
design'd, [human mind. 

And framed her last, best v/ork, the 
Hei eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
giiB form'd of various parts the various 
man. 

« Sadly. 7 Hop. 8 Gentle. ^ Hollows, lo 
Eaise. 11 Wet. 
t The poet's mare. 



Then first she calls the useful many 

forth; [worth: 

Plain plodding industry and sober 
Thence peasants, farmers, native sons 

of earth, [their birth: 

And merchandise' whole genus take 
Each prudent cit a warm existence 

finds, [kinds. 

And all mechanics' many - aprou'd 
Some other rarer sorts aie wanted yet. 
The lead and buoy are needful to the 

net; 
The caput mortuwn of gross desires 
Makes a material for mere knights and 

squires, [flow, 

The martial phosphorus is taught to 
She kneads the lumpish philosophic 

dough, [grave designs, 

Then marks th' unyielding mass with 
Law, physic, politics, and deep divmes: 
Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the 

poles, 
The flashing elements of female souls. 

The order'd system fair before her stood. 
Nature, well-pleased, pronounced it 

very good: 
But ere she gave creating labour o'er, 
Half-Jest, she tried one curious labour 

more. 
Some spumy, ^qxj ignis-fatuusmsAiev, 
Such as the slightest breath of air 

might scatter; 
With arch alacrity and conscious glee 
(Nature may have her whim as well as 

we, [show it) 

Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to 
She forms the thing, and christens it — 

a Poet, [and sorrow. 

Creature, though oft the prey of caie 
When blest to-day, unmindful of to- 
morrow. 
A being form'd t' amuse his graver 

friends. 
Admired and praised — and there the 

homage ends: 
A mortal quite unfit for Fortune's strife, 
Yet oft the sport of all the ills of life; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches 

give. 
Yet haply wanting wherewithal to live ; 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal 

each groan, 
Yet frequent all unheeded in his own. 

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, 



170 



BURNS' WORKS. 



She laugli'd at first, then felt for her 
poor work. [kind, 

Pitying the propless climber of man- 
She cast about a standard tree to find ; 
And, to support his helpless woodbine 
state, [great, 

Attach'd him to the generous truly 
A title, and the only one I claim. 
To lay strong hold for help on boun- 
teous Graham. 

Pity the tuneful Muses' hapless train. 
Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy 
main! [stuff. 

Their hearts no selfish stern, absorbent 
That never gives — though humbly 
takes enough; [soon. 

The little fate allows, they share as 
Unlike sage, proverb'd, wisdom's hard- 
wrung boon. [depend. 
The world were blest did bliss on them 
Ah, that '"the friendly e'er should 
want a friend!" [son, 
Let prudence number o'er each sturdy 
Who life, and wisdom at one race be- 
gun, [rule, 
Who feel by reason and who give by 
(Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a 
fool!) [should — 
Who make poor will do wait upon / 
We own they're prudent, but who feels 
they're good ? [eye ! 
Ye wise ones, hence ! ye hurt the social 
God's image rudely etch'd on base 
alloy! 

But come, ye who the godlike, pleasure 
know, [bestow ! 

Heaven's attribute distinguish'd — to 
Whose arms of love would grasp the 
human race. [tier's grace; 

Come thou who givest with all a cour 
Friend of my life, true patron of my 
rhymes! [times. 

Prop of my dearest hopes for future 
Why shrinks my soul half-blushiiig, 
half -afraid, [aid ? 

Backward, abash'dtoask thy friendly 
I know my need, I know thy giving 
hand, [mand, 

I crave thy friendship at thy kind com- 
But there are such who court the tune- 
ful Nine — [be mine I 
Heavens ! should the branded character 
Whose verse in manhood's pride 
sublimely flows. 



Yet vilest reptiles in their begging 

prose. 
Mark, how their lofty, independent 

spirit [merit! 

Soars on the spuming wing of injured 
Seek not the proofs in private life to 

find; [wind! 

Pity the best of words should be but 
So to heaven's gate the lark's shrill 

song ascends. 
But grovelling on the earth the carol 

ends. 

In all the clam'rous cry of starving 

want, [front, 

They dun benevolence with shameless 
Oblige them, patronise their tinsel lays. 
They persecute you all your future 

days! [stain, 

Ere my poor soul such deep damnation 
My horny fist assume the plough again. 
The piebald jacket let me patch once 

more; [fore. 

On eighteenpence a week I've lived be- 
Though, thanks to Heaven, 1 dare even 

that last shift! [gift; 

I trust, meantime, my boon is in thy 
That, placed by thee upon the wishd 

for height, [sight. 

Where., man and nature fairer in her 
My Muse may imp her wing for some 

sublimer flight. 



EPISTLE TO JAMES TAIT OP 

GLENCONNER. 
Atild comrade dear, and brither sinner, 
How's a' the folk about Glenconner? 
How do ye this blae eastlin' win'. 
That's like to blaw a body blin'? 
For me, my faculties are frozen. 
My dearest member nearly dozen,' 
I've sent you here, by Johnnie Simson, 
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on ! 
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling. 
And Reid, to common sense appealing. 
Philosophers have fought an wrangled , 
And meikle Greek and Latin mangled, 
Till wi' their logic-jargon tired, 
And in the depth of science mired. 
To common sense they now appeal. 
What wives and wabsters^ see and feel. 
But, hark, ye, frien'I I charge yoq 
strictlv. 



I Numbed. ''Weavers. 



EPISTLES. 



171 



Peruse tliem, and return tliem quickly, 
For now I'm grown sae cursed douce^ 
I pray and ponder butt the house; 
My shins, my lane,* I there sit roastin', 
Perusing Bunyan, Brown and Boston; 
Till by and by, if I haud on, 
I'll grunt a real gospel-groan: 
Already I begin to try it. 
To cast my een up like a pyet,^ 
When by the gun she tumbles o'er, 
Fluttering and gasping in her gore: 
Sae shortly you shall see me bright, 
A burning and a, shining light. 

My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace and wale'' of honest men : 
When bending down wi' auld gray 

hairs, 
Beneath the load of years and cares. 
May he who made him still support him. 
And views beyond tlie grave comfort 

him. 
His worthy family, far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear ! 

My auld schoolfellow, preacher Willie, 
The manly tar, my mason Billie, 
And Auchenbay, I wish him joy; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy. 
May he be dad, and Meg the mither, 
Just five-and-forty years thegither ! 
And no forgetting Wabster Charlie, 
I'm tauld he offers very fairly. 
And, Lord, remember singing Sannock 
Wi' hale-breeks,'' saxpence, and a ban- 
nock.^ [cy, 
And next my auld acquaintance, Nan- 
Since she is fitted to her fancy; 
And her kind stars hae airted^ till her 
A good chiel wi' a pickle siller.^" 
My kindest, best respects I sen' it. 
To cousin Kate and sister Janet; [tious, 
Tell them, frae me, wi' chiels^' be cau- 
For, faith, they'll aiblins'^ fin' them 
fashious;'^ 

To grant a heart is fairly civil, 
But to grant a maidenhead's the devil. 
And lastly, Jamie, for yoursel. 
May guardian angels tak a spell. 
And steer you seven miles south o' hell : 
But first, before you see heaven's glory, 
May ye get mony a merry story. 



L 



^ Serious. * By myself. ^ Magpie. ^ 
Choice. '' Whole breeches. ^ Oat cake. 
* Directed. 1° Some money, 'i Fellows. ^^ 
Perhaps, i^ Troublesome. 



Mony a laugh, and mony a drink. 
And aye enough o' needf u' clink. '^ 

Now fare ye weel, and joy be wi' you; 
For my sake this I beg it o' you, 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ye'll find him just an honest man; 
Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter, 
Yours, saint or sinner, 

Rob the Ranter. 



EPISTLE TO DR. BLACKLOCK, 

IN ANSWER TO A LETTER. 

Dr. Blacklock, the blind poet, had been edu- 
cated for the Church, but in consequence of 
his blindness was disappointed of a charge. 
He kept a boarding-school for young men 
attending college. He was much respected 
by the literati of the town ; but, what is 
more important, it was his letter to Mr. 
Georgia Lawrie of Kilmarnock, the friend 
of Burns, which fired the poet's ambition, 
and induced his visit to Edinburgh, and the 
abandonment of his projected departure for 
the West Indies. 

Ellisland, October 21, 1789. 

Wow, but your letter made me vaun- 

tie!i 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie?'^ 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring you to: 
Lord send you aye as weel's I want ye, 
And then ye'll do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron* south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth P 
He tauld mysel, by word o' mouth, 

He'd tak my letter; 
I lippen'd* to the chiel in trouth' 

And bade^ nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty fair one 
To ware'' his theologic care on. 

And holy study; 
And tired o' sauls to waste his lear^ on, 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier,^ 
I'm turn'd a gauger^" — Peace be here ! 

1* Money, 

1 Proud. 2 Cheerful. 3 Thirst. * Trusteed. 
^ A petty oath. '' Deserved. ' Spend. ^ Learn- 
ing. '' Friend. i" Exciseman. 

* " Heron, author of a History of Scotland 
published in 1800; and, among various other 
works, of a respectable life of our poet hinj-. 
self."— CURRIE, 



172 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Parnassian queans,^' I fear, I fear, 
Ye'li now disdain me! 

And then my fifty pounds a year 
Will little gain me. 

Ye glaikit/'^gleesome, dainty damies, 
Wlia, by Castalia's wimplin' streamies, 
Lowp,'^ sing, and lave your pretty 
limbies. 

Ye ken, ye ken. 
That Strang Necessity supreme is, 

'Mang sons o' men. 

I liae a wife and twa wee laddies, 
They maun hae brose and brats o' 
duddies.'* [is 

Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud 

I needna vaunt, ^" 
But I'll sned besoms"^ thraw saugh 
woodies," 

Before they want. 

Lord, help me through this world o' 

care ! 
I'm weary sick o't late and air;^^ 
Not but 1 hae a richer share 

Than mony ithers; 
But why should ae man better fare. 

And a' men brithers ? 

Come, firm Resolve, take thou the van. 
Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man !f 
And let us mind, faint heart ne'er wan 

A lady fair- 
Wha does the utmost that he can, 

Will whiles'^ do mair. 

conclude my silly rhyme, 
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) 
To make a happy fire-side clime. 

To weans'^" and wife; 
That's the true pathos and sublime 

Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Beckie; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 



^1 Lasses. '^ Foolish ^^ Jump, i'* Rags 
o' clothing. 1^ Boast. ^'' Cut brooms. '' 
Twist willow withes. ^^ Early. ^^ Some- 
times. 20 Children. 

+ The male hemp— that which bears the 
seed, " Ye have a stalk o' carl-hemp in you," 
is a Scotch remark, and means that a man has 
lEore stamina in him than ordinary. 



I wat she is a dainty chuckle,:}: 
As e'er tread clay ! 

And gratefully, my guid auld cockieg 
I'm yours for aye. 

Robert Burns. 



SECOND EPISTLE TO 

ROBERT GRAHAM, ESQ., OF 

FINTRY, 

ON THE CLOSE OF THE DISPUTED ELEC- 
TION BETWEEN SIR JAMES JOHNSTON 
AND CAPTAIN MILLER, FOR TIIK 
DUMFRIES DISTRICT OF BOROUGHS. 

FiNTRY, my stay in wordly strife, 
Friend o' my Muse, friend o' my life, 

Are ye as idle's I am '? 
Come then, wi' uncouth, kintra fleg,' 
O'er Pegasus I'll fling my leg. 

And. ye shall see me try him. 

I'll sing the zeal Drumlanrig* bears, 
Wha left the all important cares 

Of princes and their darlin's: 
And, bent on winning borough touns. 
Came shaking hands wi' wabster louns, 

And kissing barefit carlins'^ 

Combustion through our boroughs rode. 
Whistling his roaring pack abroad. 

Of mad, unmuzzled lions; 
As Queens berry ' ' buff and blue " 

unfurl'd,' 
And Westerha'f Hopetoun hurl'd 

To every Whig defiance. 

But cautious Queensberry left the war. 
The unmanner'd dust might soil his 
star; 

Besides, he hated bleeding: 
But left behind him heroes bright, 
Heroes in Cassarean fight. 

Or Ciceronian pleading 



1 Country kick. ^ Barefooted women. 

X Chuckle — literally, hen. Often used as a 
familiar term of endearment in speaking of a 
female. 

§ Cockie — literally, cock. Used in the same 
way as chuckie. 

* The fourth Duke of Queensberry, of in- 
famous memory. 

t Sir James Johnston, the Tory candidate. 



EPISTLES. 



173 



Oil, for a throat like huge Mons-Meg, 
To muster o'er each ardent Whig 

Beneath Drumlanrig's banners, 
Heroes and heroines commix. 
All in the field of politics. 

To win immortal honours. 

M'Murdol and his lovely spouse 

(Th' enamour'd laurels kiss her brows !) 

Led on the Loves and Graces: 
She won each gaping burgess' heart, 
While he, all conquering, play'd his 
part 

Amang their wives and lasses. 

Craigdarroch§ led a light-arm'd corps; 
Tropes, metaphors, and figures pour. 

Like Hecla streaming thunder: 
Glenriddel, || skill'd in rusty coins. 
Blew up each Tory's dark designs, 

And bared the treason under. 

In either wing two champions fought, 
Redoubted Staig.Tf who set at nought 

The wildest savage Tory; 
And Welsh,** who ne'er yet flinch'd 

his ground. 
High- waved his magnum-bonum round 

With Cyclopean fury. 

Miller brought up the artillery ranks, 
The many-pounders of the Banks, 

Resistless desolation ! 
While Maxwelton, that baron bold, 
Mid Lawson'sff port entrench'd his 
hold. 

And threaten'd worse damnation. 

To these, what Tory hosts opposed; 
With these, what Tory warriors closed, 

Surpasses my discriving: 
Squadrons extended long and large. 
With furious speed rush'd to the 
charge. 

Like raging devils driving. 

What verse can sing, what pros© 
narrate, 

t Chamberlain of the Duke of Queensberry 
at Drumlanrig, and a friend of the poet's. 

§ Fergusson of Craigdarroch. 
I Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, anothei 
friend of the poet's. 
^ Provor.t Staig of Dumfries. 
** Sheriff Welsh, 
tt A wine merchant in Dumfries. 



The butcher deeds of bloody Fate 
Amid this miglity tulzie !* 

Grim Horror grinn'd — pale Terror 
roar'd. 

As Murther at his thrapple shored,* 

And Hell mix'd in the brulzie l^ 

As Highland crags by thunder cleft. 
When lightnings fire the stormy lift,^ 

Hurl down wi' crashing rattle: 
As flames amang a hundred woods; 
As headlong foam a hundred floods; 

Such is the rage of battle! 

The stubborn Tories dare to die; 
As soon the rooted oaks would fly 

Before th' approaching fellers: 
The Whigs come on like Ocean's roar, 
When all his wintry billows pour 

Against the Buchan Bullers.Jt 

Lo, from the shades of Death's deep 

night. 
Departed Whigs enjoy the fight. 

And think on former daring: 
The muffled murtherer of Charles § § 
The Magna-Charta flag unfurls. 

All deadly gules its bearing. 

Nor wanting ghosts of Tory fame. 
Bold Scrimgeour 1| |1 follows gallant 
Grahame.'IfTy 

Auld Covenanters shiver. 
(Forgive, forgive, much-wrong'd Mon- 
trose! 
While death and hell ingulf thy foes. 
Thou liv'st on high forever!) 

Still o'er the field the combat burns, 
The Tories, Whigs, give way by turns; 

But Fate the word has spoken; 
For woman's wit and strength o' man, 
Alas! can do but what they can — 

The Tory ranks are broken! 

Oh that my een were flowing burns! 



3 Conflict. ■'Threatened. ^ Broil. "Fir- 
mament. 

tt The " Bullers of Buchan" is an appella- 
tion given to a tremendous rocky recess on 
the Aberdeenshire coast, near Peterhead^ 
having an opening to the sea, vfhile the top is 
open. The sea, constantly raging in it, gives 
it the appearance of a pot or boiler, and hence 
the name. 

§§ The executioner of Charles I. wag 
masked. 

lill John Earl of Dundee. 

•ft The great Marquis of Montrose. 



174 



BURNS' WORKS. 



My voice a lioness that mourns 

Her darling cub's undoing! 
Tliat I might greet, that I might cry, 
While Tories fall, while Tories fly, 
And furious Whigs pursuing! 

What Whig but wails the good Sir 

James ? 
Dear to his country by the names 
Friend, patron, benefactor! 
Not Pulteney's wealth can Pulteney 
save, [brave! 

And Hopetoun falls, the generous 
And Stewart,*** bold as Hector. 

Thou, Pitt, shalt rue this overthrow, 
And Thurlow growl a curse of woe; 

And Melville melt in wailing! 
Now Fox and Sheridan rejoice! 
And Burke shall sing, " O Prince arise! 

Thy power is all prevailing." 

For your poor friend, the bard afar 
He hears, and only hears, the war, 

A cool spectator purely; 
So when the storm the forest rends, 
The robin in the hedge descends, 

And sober chiros securely. 

Additional verse ^n Close ourn MS. — 

Now for my friends' and brethren's 

sakes, 
And for my dear-loved Land o' Cakes, 

1 pray with holy fire: 
Lord, send a rough-shod troop o' hell. 
O'er a' wad Scotland buy or sell. 

To grind them in the mire 



THIRD EPISTLE TO ROBERT 
GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRY 

Late crippled of an arm, and now a 

leg,* 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg ■ 
Dull, listless, teased, dejected, and 

deprest. 



*** Stewart of Hillside. 

* Burns wrote to Mrs. Dunlop, on the 7th of 
February, 1791, " that, by a, fall, not from my 
horse, but with my horse, I have been a 
cripple for some time, and this is the first day 
my arm and hand have been able to serve me 
in writing," __ 



(Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest.) 
Will generous Graham list to his 

poet's wail ? [her tale.) 

(It soothes poor Misery, heark'nhig to 
And hear him curse the light he first 

survey'd, [trade ? 

And doubly curse the luckless rhyming 

Thou, Nature ! partial Nature ! I 

arraign; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have 

found. 
One shakes the forests, and one spurns 

the ground - 
Thou giv'st the ass his hide, the snail 

his shell, 
Th' envenom'd wasp, victorious, guards 

his cell; 
Thy minions, kingS; defend, control, 

devour, [power; 

In all th' omnipotence of rule and 
Foxes and statesmen subtle wiles 

insure; [secure. 

The cit and polecat stink, and are 
Toads with their poison, doctors with 

their drug, 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes 

are snug; 
Even silly woman has her warlike arts, 
Her tongue and eyes — ^her dreaded 

spear and darts. [hard, 

But, oh ! thou bitter stepmother and 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — 

the bard ! 
A thing unteachable in wordly skill, 
And half an idiot, too, more helpless 

still ; [dun, 

^o heels to bear him from the opening 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to 

shun; [worn, 

No horns, but those by luckless Hymen 
And those, alas ! not Amalthea's horn: 
No nerves olfactory. Mammon's trusty 

cur, [fur; — 

Clad in rich Dullness' comfortable 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride, 
He bears the unbroken blast from 

every side [lieart. 

Vampire booksellers drain him to the 
And scorpion critics curseless venom 

dart. 

Critics ! — appall 'd I venture on the 

name, [of fame: 

Those cut-throat bandits in the patha 



EPISTLES. 



175 



Bloody dissectors, worse than ten 

Monroes !f [expose. 

He hacks to teacli, tliey mangle to 

His heart by causeless wanton malice 

wrung, [stung; 

By blockheads' daring into madness 
His well-won bays, than life itself 

more dear, [sprig must wear. 

By miscreants torn, who ne'er one 
Foil'd, bleeding, tortured, in the 

unequal strife, [life; 

The hapless poet flounders on through 
Till, tied each hope that once his bosom 

fired, [inspired. 

And fled each muse that glorious once 
Low sunk in squalid unprotected age. 
Dead, even resentment, for his injured 

page, [less critic's rage. 

He heeds or feels no more the ruth- 
So, by some hedge, the generous steed 

deceased, [feast. 

For half -starved snarling curs a dainty 
By toil and famine worn to skin and 

bone, [son. 

Lies senseless of each tugging bitch's 

Dullness ! portion of the truly blest ! 
Calm'd shelter'd haven of eternal rest ! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce 

extremes 
Of Fortune's polar f rost,or torrid beams. 
If mantling high she fills the golden 

cup. 
With sober selfish ease they sip it up: 
Conscious the bounteous meed they 

well deserve, [not starve. 

They only wonder "some folks" do 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks 

his frog, [less dog. 

And thinks the mallard a sad worth- 
When disappointment snaps the clue 

of Hope, [darkling grope. 

And through disastrous night they 
With deaf endurance sluggishly they 

bear, [fortune's care." 

And just conclude that "fools are 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's 

shocfe, [stupid ox. 

Strong on the sign-post stands the 

t The allusion here is to Alexander Munro, 
the distinguished Professor of Anatomy in 
the University of Edinburgh in Burns' day. 



Not so the idle Muse's mad-cap train. 
Not such the workings of their moon- 
struck bram ! 
In equanimity they never dwell. 
By turns in soaring heaven or vaulted 
hell. 

I dread thee, Fate, relentless and 

severe, [fear ! 

With all a poet's, husband's, father's 
Already one stronghold of hope is lost — 
Glencairn. the truly noble, lies in dust; 
(Fled, like the sun eclipsed as nooa 

appears, tears) 

And left us darkling in a world of 
Oh ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish 

prayer ! — [spare ! 

Fintry, my other stay, long bless and 
Through a long life his hopes and 

wishes crown, [go down ! 

And bright in cloudless skies his sua 
May bliss domestic smooth his private 

path, [latest breath. 

Give energy to life, and soothe his 
With many a filial tear circling the bed 

of death ! 



FOURTH EPISTLE TO ROBERT 

GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRT. 

The followingr verses were written in ac- 
knowledgment of the favour the previous 
epistle prayed for. 

I CALL no goddess to inspire my strains, 
A fabled Muse may suit a bard that 
feigns; [burns. 

Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit 
And all the tribute of my heart returns, 
For boons accorded, goodness ever new, 
The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 

Thou orb of day ! thou other paler 
light ! [night; 

And all ye many sparkling stars of 

If aught that giver from my mind 
efi'ace; 

If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace; 

Then roll to me along your wandering 
spheres, 

Only to number out a villain's years ! 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, ETC. 



THOUGH FICKLE FOETUNE HAS 
DECEIVED ME. 

" The following-," says Burns, "was written 
extempore, under the pressure of a heavy 
train of misfortunes, which, indeed, threat- 
ened to undo me altogether. It was just at 
the close of that dreadful period mentioned 
already (in Commonplace-book, March, 
1784) ; and though the weather has bright- 
ened up a little with me since, yet there has 
always been a tempest brewing round me 
in the grim sky of futurity, which I pretty 

Elainly see will, some time or other, per- 
aps ere long, overwhelm me, and drive me 
into some doleful dell, to pine in solitary, 
squalid wretchedness." 

Though fickle Fortune h.as deceived 
ine, [ill ; 

She promised fair and perform'd but 
Of mistress, friends, and wealtli be- 
reaved me, [still. 
Yet I bear a heart shall support me 

I'll act with prudence as f ar's I'm able, 
But if success I must never find, 

Then come, Misfortune, I bid thee Avel- 

come. [mind. 

I'll meet thee with an undaunted 



ON JOHN DOVE, INNKEEPER, 
MAUCHLINE. 

Here lies Johnny Pigeon; 
What was his religion ? 

Whae'er desires to ken,' 
To some other warl' 
Maun follow the carl,' 

For here Johnny Pigeon had nanel 

1 Know, - Old man. 



Strong ale was ablution- 
Small beer persecution, 

A dram was memento morij 
But a full flowing bowl 
Was the saving his soul. 

And port was celestial glory. 



TO A PAINTER. 

While in Edinburgh, the poet paid a visit to 
the studio of a well-known painter, whom 
he found at work on a picture of Jacob's 
Dream ; and having looked at the sketch foi 
a little, he wrote the following verses on 
the back of it : — 

Dear , I'll gie ye some advice, 

You'll tak it no uncivil: 
You shouldna paint at angels mair. 

But try to paint the devil. 

To paint an angel's kittle wark, 
W'i' auld Nick there's less danger; 

You'll easy draw a weel-kent face, 
But no sae weel a stranger. 

R. B. 



EPITAPH ON THE AUTHOR'S 

FATHER. 

The following lines were inscribed on a small 
headstone erected over the grave of the 
poet's father, in Alloway Kirkyard : — 

O YE whose cheek the tear of pity 

stains; [attend! 

Draw near with pious reverence, and 
Here lie the loving husband's dear re- 
mains, [ friend j 
The tender father, and the generou* 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, Etc. 



17? 



The pitying lieart that felt for human 
woe; [human pride; 

The dauntless heart that fear'd no 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe: 
' For even his failings lean'd to vir- 
tue's side."* 



A FAREWELK 

These lines form the conclusion of a letter 
from Bums to Mr. John Kennedy, dated 
Kilmarnock, August, 1786. 

Farewell, dear friend! may guid 

luck hit you, 
And, 'mang her favourites admit you \ 
If e'er Detraction shone to smite you, 

May nane believe him ! 
And ony deil that thinks to get you. 

Gfood Lord deceive him. 



ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE. 

The wag- here meant was James Smith, the 
tames Smith of the epistle commencing 
" Dear Smith, the sleest, pawkie thief." 

Lament him, Mauchline husbands a', 

He aften did assist ye; 
For had ye staid vrhole years awa'. 

Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye. 
Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass 

To school in bands thegither. 
Oh, tread ye lightly on his grass — 

Perhaps he was your father. 



POETICAL REPLY TO AN INVI- 
TATION. 

MOSSGIEL, 1786. 

Sm, 
Yours this moment I unseal. 

And faith, I am gay and hearty! 
To tell the truth and shame the deil, 

I am as fou as Bartie;f 

But f oorsday, sir, my promise l6al» 

Expect me o' your party. 
If on a beastie I can speel. 

Or hurl in a cartie. — R. B, 



TO A YOUNG LADY IN A 
CHURCH. 

During the poet's Border tour, he went to 
church one Sunday, accompanied by Miss 



* Goldsmith. 

+ A proverbial saying, which may be inter- 
preted by aline of an old song : — 

" I'm no just fou, but I'm gayley yet." 



Ainslie, the sister of his traveling compan- 
ion. The text for the day happened to con- 
tain a severe denunciation of obstinate sin- 
ners : and Burns, observing the young lady 
intently turning over the leaves of her Bible 
in search of the passage, took out a small 
piece of paper, and wrote the following 
lines upon it, which he immediately passed 
to her : — 

Fair maid, you need not take the hint. 

Nor idle texts pursue; 
'Twas guilty idnners that he meant. 

Not angels such as you I 



VERSES 

WRITTEN UNDER THE PORTRAIT OB' 
FERGUSSON, THE POET, IN A COPY OB" 
THAT AUTHOR'S WORKS PRESENTED 
TO A YOUNG LADY IN EDINBURGH, 
MARCH, 17, 1787. 

Curse on ungrateful man, that can be 
pleased, [pleasure ! 

And yet can starve the author of the 
thou, my elder brother in misfortune, 
By far my elder brother in the Muses, 
With tears I pity thy unhappy fate ! 
Why is the bard unpitied by the world. 
Yet "has so keen a relish of its pleasures? 



ON THE ILLNESS OP A FAVOUR- 
ITE CHILD. 

Now health forsakes that angel face, 
Nae mair my dearie smiles; 

Pale sickness withers ilka grace. 
And a' my hopes beguiles. 

The cruel Powers reject the prayer 

I hourly mak for thee 1 
Ye heavens, how great is my despair, ' 

How can I see him die ! 



EXTEMPORE ON TWO LAWYERS. 

During Burns' first sojourn in Edinburgh, in 
1787, he paid a visit to the Parliament 
House, and the result was two well-drawn 
sketches of the leading counsel of the day— 
the Lord Advocate, Mr. Hay Campbell, 
(afterwards Lord President), and the Dean 
of Faculty, Harry Erskine. 

LORD ADVOCATE. 

He cleiich'd his pamphlets in his fist, 
He quoted and he hintedj 



178 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Till in a declamation mist 
His argument be tint' it; 

He gaped for 't, lie graped^ for 't, 
He found it was awa', man; 

But what his common sense cam short, 
He eked out wi' law, man. 

DEAN OF FACULTY. 

Collected Harry stood a wee, 

Then open'd out his arm, man; 
His lordship sat "^vi' ruefu' ee, 

And eyed the gathering storm, man: 
Like wind-driven hail, it did assail, 

Or torrents owre a linn, man ; 
The Bench sae wise, lift up their eyes, 

Half-waken'd wi' the din, man. 



THE HIGHLAND WELCOME. 

When Death's dark stream I ferry o'er, 
A time that surely shall come; 

In heaven itself I'll ask no more 
Than just a Highland welcome. 



EXTEMPORE ON WILLIAM 
SMELLIE, 

AtTTHOR OF THE "PHILOSOPHY OP 
NATTJRAL HISTORY," AND MEMBER 
OF THE ANTIQUARIAN AND ROYAL 
SOCIETIES OP EDINBURGH. 

Smellie belonged to a club called the Crochal- 
lan Fencibles, of which Burns was a mem- 
ber. 

Shrevstd Willie Smellie to Crochallan 
came, • [the same; 

The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout, 
His bristling beard just rising in its 
might, [shaving night; 

'Twas four long nights and days to 
His uncomb'd grizzly locks wild star- 
ing, thatch'd [unmatch'd; 
A head for thought profound and clear 
Yet though his caustic wit was biting, 
rude, [good. 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and 



»Lost. 2 Groped. 



VERSES WRITTEN ON A 

WINDOW OP THE INN 

AT CARRON. 

The following lines were written on being 
refused admittance to the Carron iron- 
works : — 

We cam na here to view your warka 

In hopes to be mair wise, 
But only lest we gang to hell. 

It may be nae surprise: 

But when we tirled at your door. 
Your porter dought nahear us; 

Sae may, should we to hell's yetts come- 
Your billy Satan sair us 1 



LINES ON VIEWING STIRLING 

PALACE. 

The following lines were scratched with a 
diamond on a pane of glass in a window of 
the Inn at which Burns put up, on the occa- 
sion of his first visit to Stirling. They were 
quoted to his prejudice at the time, and no 
doubt did him no good with those vfho 
could best serve his interests. On his next 
visit to Stirling, he smashed the pane with 
the butt-end of his riding whip : — 

Here Stuarts once in glory reign'd. 
And laws for Scotland's weal ordain'd; 
But now unroof 'd their palace stands. 
Their sceptre's sway'd by other hands; 
The injured Stuart line is gone, 
A race outlandish fills their throne — 
An idiot race, to honour lost; [most. 
Who know them best despise them. 

THE REPROOF. 

Rash mortal, and slanderotis poet, thy 
name [of famej 

Shall no longer appear in the records 

Dost not know, that old Mansfield, 
who writes like the Bible, 

Says, The more 'tis a truth, sir, the 
more 'tis a libel ? 



LINES 

WRITTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE 
CELEBRATED MISS BURNS. 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious railing. 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess. 

True it is, she had one failing — 
Had a woman ever less ? 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, Etc. 



179 



ON INCIVILITY SHOWN TO HIM 

AT INVERARY. 

The poet having halted at Inverary during 
his first JHighland tour, put up at the inn : 
but on finding himself neglected by the 
landlord, whose house was filled with visit- 
ors to the Duke of Argyle, he resented the 
inciviUty in the following lines : — 

Whoe'er lie be that sojourns here, 

I pity mucli his case. 
Unless he come to wait upon 

The lord their god, his Grace. 

There's nathing here but Highland 
pride. 

And Highland cauld and hunger; 
If Providence has sent me here, 

'Twas surely in His anger. 



ON A SCHOOLMASTER, 

Here lie Willie Michie's banes; 

O Satan, when ye tak him, 
Qie him the schoolin' o' your weans. 

For clever deils he '11 mak 'em ! 



VERSES 

ADDRESSED TO THE LA]ST)LADY OP THE 
INN AT ROSSLTN. 

My blessings on you, sonsie wife; 

I ne'er was here before; [knife. 

You've gien us walth for horn and 

Nae heart could wish for more. 

Heaven keep you free frae care and 
strife. 

Till far ayont fourscore; 
And, while I toddle on through life, 

I'll ne'er gang by your door. 



INNOCENCE. 

Innocence 
Looks gayly-smiling on; while rosy 

Pleasure [wreath, 

Hides young Desire amid her flowery 
And pours her cup luxuriant; mantling 

higli [and Bliss ! 

The sparkling heavenly vintage — Love 



ON ELPHINSTONE'S TRANSLA- 
TION OF MARTIAL'S " EPI- 
GRAMS." 

" Stopping at a merchant's shop in Edin- 
burgh," says Burns, " a friend of mine one 
day put Elphinstone s translation of Martial 
into my hand, and desired my opinion of it. 
I asked permission to write my opinion on a 
blank leaf of the book ; which being grant- 
ed, I wrote this epigram;" — 

O Thou, whom Poesy abhors ! 
Whom Prose has turned out of doors ! 
Heard'st thou that groan ? — proceed no 
further — [ther!" 

'Twas laurell'd Martial roaring, " Mur- 



LINES 



WRITTEN ON A PANE OF GLASS IN 

THE INN AT MOFFAT. 

While Burns was in the inn at Moffat one 
day, the " charming, lovely Davies" of one 
of his songs happened to pass, accompanied 
by a tall and portly lady : and on a friend 
asking him why God had made Miss Davies 
so small and the other lady so large, he re- 
plied : — 

Ask why God made the gem so small. 
And why so huge the granite ? 

Because God meant mankind should set 
The higher value on it. 



LINES 

SPOKEN EXTEMPORE ON BEING AP- 
POINTED TO THE EXCISE. 

Searching auld wives' barrels, 
Och, hon ! the day ! [laurels; 

That clarty barm should stain my 
But — what'll ye say ? [weans 

These movin' things ca'd wives and 
Wad move the very hearts o' stanes ! 



EPITAPH ON W . 

Stop, thief ! Dame Nature cried to 

Death, 
As Willie drew his latest breath; 
You have my choicest model ta'en, 
How shall I make a fool again ? 



ON A PERSON NICKNAJMED THE 

MARQUIS. 
The person who bore this name was the land- 



180 



BURNS' WORKS. 



lord of a tavern in Dumfries frequented by 
Burns. In a moineai of weakness he asked 
the poet to write his epitaph, which he im- 
mediately did, in a style not at all to the 
taste of the Marquis. 

Heke lies a mock Marquis, wliose 

titles were shamm'd; 
If ever he rise — it will be to be damn'd. 



TO JOHN M'MURDO, ESQ. 

John M'Murdo was steward to the Duke 
of Queensberry, and the faithful friend of 
Burns during the whole period of his resi- 
dence in Nithsdale. 

Oh could I give thee India's wealtTi 

As I this trifle send ! 
Because tliy joy in both would be 

To share them with a friend. 

But golden sands did never grace 

The Heliconian stream; 
Then take what gold could never buy — 

An honest bard's esteem. 



TO THE SAME. 

Bt,est be M'Murdo to his latest day ! 
No envious cloud o'ercast his evening 

ray; [Care, 

No wrinkle furrow'd by the hand of 
Nor ever sorrow add one silver hair ! 
Oh, may no son the father's honour 

stain, [pain ! 

Nor ever daughter give the mother 



ON CAPTAIN FRANCIS GROSE. 

One night at table, when the wine had circu- 
lated pretty freely, and 

"The mirth and fun grew fast and 
furious," 

Captain Grose, it is said, amused with the 
sallies of the poet, requested a couplet on 
himself. Having eyed the corpulent anti- 
(juary for a little, Burns repeated the follow- 
ing;— 

The devil got notice that Grose was 

a-dying, [came flying; 

So wliip at the summons old Satan 

But when he approach'd where poor 

Francis lay moaning, [a-groaning, 

And saw each bedpost with its burden 

Astonish'd, confounded, cried Satan, 

" By God ! [nable load ! " 

I'll want 'im, ere I take such a dam- 



ON GRIZZEL GRIM. 

Here lies with Death auld Grizzel 
Grim, 

Lincluden's ugly witch; 
O Death, how horrid is thy taste 

To lie with such a bitch I 



ON MR. BURTON. 

Burns having on one occasion met a young 
Englishman of the name of Burton, he be- 
came very importunate that the poet should 
compose an epitaph for him. In vain," 
says Cunningham, " the bard objected 
that he was not sufficiently acquainted with 
his character and habits to qualify him for 
the task ; the request was constantly repeat- 
ed with a " Dem my eyes, Burns, do write 
an epitaph for me; oh, dem my blood, do. 
Burns, write an epitaph for me." Over- 
come by his importunity, Burns at last took 
out his pencil and produced tlie follow- 
ing:— 

Here cursing, swearing Burton lies, 
A buck, a beau, or Dem my eyes 1 
Who in his life did little good; [blood 1 
And his last words were — Dem my 



POETICAL REPLY TO AN INVITA- 
TION. 

The king's most humble servant, I 
Can scarcely spare a minute; 

But I'll be wi' you by and by. 
Or else the devil's in it. 



TO THE EDITOR OF THE STAB. 

" Burns at one period," says Cunningham, 
" was in the habit of receiving the S/nr 
newspaper gratuitously ; but as it came 
somewhat irregularly to hand, he sent the 
following lines to head-quarters, to insure 
more punctuality :" — 

Dear Peter, dear Peter, 

We poor sons of metre. 
Are often negleckit, ye ken; 

For instance, your sheet, man, 

(Though glad I'm to see't, man,) 
I get it no ae day in ten. 



ON BURNS' HORSE BEING IM- 
POUNDED. 
Was e'er puir poet sae befitted, [tec ? 
The maister drunk — ^the horse commit- 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, Etc. 



381 



Puir harmless beast ! tak thee nae care, 
Thou'lt be a horse when he's nae mair 

LINES 

SENT TO A GENTLEMAN WHOM HE HAD 
OFFENDED. 

The friend whom wild from wisdom's 
way 
The fumes of wine infuriate send; 
(Not moony madness more astray;) 
Who but deplores that hapless 
friend ? 

Mine was the insensate frenzied part ! 

Ah ! why should I such scenes out- 
live ! 
Scenes so abhorrent to my heart ! 

'Tis thine to pity and forgive. 



VERSES TO JOHN RANKINE, 

ON HIS WBITING TO THE POET THAT A 
GIRL IN THAT PART OF THE COUNTRY 
WAS WITH CHILD BY HIM. 

I AM a keeper of the law 

In some sma' points, although not a': 

Some people tell me gin I fa', 

Ae way or ither, 
The breaking of ae point, though sma', 

Breaks a' thegither. 

I hae been in for't ance or twice. 
And winna say o'er far for thrice, 
Yet never met with that surprise 

That broke my rest, 
But now a rumour's like to rise, 

A whaup's i' the nest. 



ON SEEING MISS FONTENELLE 
IN A FAVOURITE CHARACTER. 

Sweet naivete of feature. 
Simple, wild, enchanting elf. 

Not to thee, but thanks to Nature, 
Thou art acting but thyself. 

Wert thou awkward, stiff, affected, 

Spurning nature, torturing art; 
Loves and graces all rejected, 
; Then indeed thou'dst act a part. 



ON GABRIEL RICHARDSON, 
BREWER, DUMFRIES. j 

Here brewer Gabriel's fire's extinct, '' 

And empty all his barrels: 
He's blest — if, as hebrew'd, he drink — 

In upright honest morals. 



THE BLACK-HEADED EAGLE: 

A FRAGMENT ON THE DEFEAT OF THE 
AUSTRIANS by DUMOURIER, at GEM- 
APPE, NOVEMBER, 1793. 

The black-headed eagle, 

As keen as a beagle. 
He hunted owre height and owre howe; 

But fell in a trap 

On the braes of Gemappe, 
E'en let him come out as he dowe. 



ON A SHEEP'S-HEAD. 

Having been dining at the Globe Tavern, 
Dumfries, on one occasion when a sheep's- 
head happened to be the fare provided, he 
was asked to give something new as a 
grace, and instantly replied :— 

O Lord, when hunger pinches sore. 

Do Thou stand us in stead. 
And send us from Thy bounteoits store 

A tup or wether head ! — Amen. 

After having dined, and greatly enjoyed this 
dainty, he was again asked to return thanks, 
when, without a moment's premeditation, 
he at once said : — 

O Lord, since we have feasted thus. 

Which we so little merit, 
Let Meg now take away the flesh. 

And Jock bring in the spirit l^Amen. 



ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG 

NAMED ECHO. 

In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, 

Your heavy loss deplore; 
Now half- extinct your powers of song, 

Sweet Echo is no more. 

Ye jarring, screeching things around. 
Scream your discordant joys; 

Now half your din of tuneless sound 
With Echo silent lies. 



ON SEEING THE BEAUTIFUL 

SEAT OF LORD GALLOWAY. 

This and the three following verses were 
written as political squibs during the heat 
of a contested election : — 

What dost thou in that mansion f air?— 

Flit, Galloway, and find 
Borne narrow, dirty, dungeon cave. 

The picture of thy mind I 



ON THE SAME. 

No Stewart art thou, Galloway, 
The Stewarts all were brave; 

Besides, the Stewarts were but fools, 
Not one of them a knave. 



ON THE SAME. 

Bright ran thy line, O Galloway, 
Through many a far-famed sire 1 

S® ran the far-famed Roman way. 
So ended — ^in a mire 1 



TO THE SAME. 

ON THE AtTTHOR'S BEING THREATENED 
WITH HIS RESENTMENT. 

Spare me thy vengeance, Galloway, 

In quiet let me live: 
I ask no kindness at thy hand. 

For thou hast none to give. 



HOWLET FACE. 

One of the Lords of Justiciary, says a corre- 
spondent of Mr. Chambers', while on circuit 
at Dumfries, had dined one day at Mr. Mil- 
ler's of Dalswinton ; and having, according 
to the custom of the time, taken wine to 
such an extent as to affect his sight, said to 
his host, on entering the drawing-room, and 
at the same time pointing to one of his 
daughters, who was thought an uncommon- 
ly handsome woman, " Wha's you howlet- 
f'aced thing in the corner?" The circum- 
stance having been related to Byrns, who 
happened to dine there ne.xt day, he took 
out his pencil and wrote the following lines, 
which he handed to Miss Miller : — 

How daur ye ca' me hov,rlet-faced. 
Ye ugly glowering spectre ? 

My face was but thekpekia' glass, 
And there ye saw your picture 1 



THE BOOK- WORMS, 

Having been shown into a magnificent library, 
while on a visit to a nobleman, and observ- 
ing a splendidly-bound, but uncut and 
worm-eaten, copy of Shakespeare on the 
table, the poet left the following lines in 
the volume : — 

Through and through the inspired 
leaves. 

Ye maggots, make your vrindings; 
But, oh, respect his lordship's taste. 

And spare the golden bindings! 



EPIGRAM ON BACON. 

Brownhill was a posting station some fifteen 
miles from Dumfries. Dming there on one 
occasion, the poet met a Mr. Ladyman, a 
commercial traveller, who solicited a sample 
of his " rhyming ware." At dinner, beans 
and bacon were served, and the landlord, 
whose name was Bacon, had, as was his 
wont, thrust himself somewhat offensively 
into the company of his guests. 

At Brownhill we always get dainty 
good cheer, [year; 

And plenty of bacon each day in the 

We've all things that's neat, and mostly 
in season, [me a reason. 

But why always Bacon V — come, give 



THE EPITAPH. 

In this stinging epitaph Burns satirizes Mrs. 
Riddel of Woodley Park. He had taken 
offence because she seemed to pay more at- 
tention to officers in the company than to 
the poet, who had a supreme contempt for 
" epauletted puppies," as he delighted to 
call them. 

Here lies, now a prey to insulting 
neglect, [life's beam : 

What once was a butterfly, gay in 
Want only of wisdom denied her re- 
spect, [esteem. 
Want only of goodness denied her 



ON MRS. KEMBLE. 

The poet having witnessed the performance 
of Mrs. Kemble in the part of Yarico, one 
night at the Dumfries theatre, seized a piece 
of paper, wrote these lines with a pencil, 
and handed them to the lady at theconclur. 
sion of the performance : — 

Kemble, thou curst my unbelief 

Of Moses and his rod; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief 

The rock witli tears had fiow'd. 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, Etc. 



183 



THE CREED OF POVERTY. 

" When the Board of Excise," says Cunning- 
ham, " informed Burns that his business 
was to act, and not think, he read the order 
to a friend, turned the paper, and wrote as 
follows :" — 

In politics if thou wouldst mis, 

And mean thy fortunes be; 
Bear this in mind — ' ' Be deaf and bhnd; 

Let great folks hear and see. " 



WRITTEN IN A LADY'S POCKET- 
BOOK. 

The following lines indicate how strongly 
Burns sympathized with the lovers of lib- 
erty during the first outbreak of the French 
Revolution : — 

Grant me, indulgent Heaven, that I 
may live [give; 

To see the miscreants feel the pain they 

Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free 
as air, [which were. 

Till slave and despot be but things 



THE PARSON'S LOOKS. 

Some one having remarked that he saw false- 
hood in the very look of a certain reverend 
gentleman, the poet replied : — 

That there is falsehood in his looks 

I must and will deny ; 
They say their master is a knave — 

And sure they do not lie. 



EXTEMPORE, 

PINNED TO A lady's COACH. 

If you rattle along like your mistress's 
tongue. 
Your speed will outrival the dart ; 
But a fly for your load, you'll break 
down on the road, 
If 3 our stuff be as rotten's her heart. 



ON ROBERT RIDDEL. 

The poet traced these lines with a diamond 
on the V/'indow of the hermitage of Friars' 
Carse, the first time he visited it after the 
death of his friend the Laird of Carse. 

To Riddel, much-lamented man. 

This ivied cot was dear; 
Reader, dost value matchless worth? 

This ivied cot revere. 



ON EXCISEMEN. 

WHITTEN ON A WINDOW IN DUMFRIES. 

" One day," says Cunningham, " while in the 
King's Arms Tavern, Dumfries, Bums 
overheard a country gentleman talking dis- 
paragingly concernmg excisemen. The poet 
went to a window, and on one of the panes 
wrote this rebuke with his diamond : — 

Ye men of wit and wealth, why all 

this sneering [a hearing; 

'Gainst poor excisemen ? give the cause 
What are poor landlords' rent-rolls ? 

taxing ledgers; 
What premiers — what? even mon- 

archs' mighty g augers: 
Nay, what are priests, those seeming 

godly mse men ? [cise men ? 

What are they, pray, but spiritual ex- 



VERSES 

WRITTEN ON A WINDOW OF THE GLOBE 
TAVERN, DUMFRIES. 

The graybeard, old Wisdom, may 
boast of his treasures, 
Give me with gay Folly to live ; 
I grant him calm- blooded, time-settled 
pleasures. 
But Folly has rapture to give. 



THE SELKIRK GRACE, 

The poet having been on a visit to the Earl of 
Selkirk at St. Mary's Isle, was asked to say 
grace at dinner. He repeated the following 
words, which have since been known in the 
district as " The Selkirk Grace :" — 

Some hae meat, and canna eat, 
And some wad eat that want it; 

But we hae meat, and we can eat. 
And sae the Lord be thaukit. 



EPITAPH ON A SUICIDE. 

Earth'd up here lies an imp o' hell. 
Planted by Satan's dibble — 

Poor siily wretch he's damn'd himsel 
To save the Lord the trouble. 



TO DR. MAXWELL, 

ON MISS JESSIE STAIG'S RECOVERY. 

'How do you like the following epigram," 
says the poet, in a letter to Thomson, 
" which I v/rote the other day on a lovely 
young girl's recovery from a fever? Doctor 



154 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Maxwell was the physician who seemingly 
saved her from the grave ; and to him I 
address the following:"— 

Maxwell, if merit here you crave, 

That merit I deny; 
You save fair Jessie from the grave ? — 

An angel could not die. 



THE PARVENU. 

Burns being present in a company where an 
ill-educated parvenu was boring every one 
by boasting of the many great people he 
had lately been visiting, gave vent to his 
feelings in the following lines : — 

No more of your titled acquaintances 

boast, [been; 

And in what lordly circles you've 

An insect is still but an insect at most. 

Though it crawl on the head of a 

queen ! 



POETICAL INSCRIPTION 

FOR AN ALTAK TO INDEPENDENCE. 

The following lines were inscribed on an altar 
erected at the seat of Heron of Kerrough- 
tree. They were written in 1795, when the 
hopes and triumphs of the French Revolu- 
tion had made it a fashion to raise altars to 
Freedom, and plant trees to Liberty. 

Thou of an independent mind, 

With soul resolved, with soul resign'd; 

Prepared power's proudest frown to 

brave, 
Who wilt not be, nor have, a slave; 
Virtue alone who dost revere. 
Thy own reproach alone dost fear. 
Approach this shrine, and worship 

here. 



EXTEMPORE TO MR. SYME, 

ON REPUSINa TO DINE WITH HIM 

Dec. 17, 1795. 

No more of your guests, be they titled 
or not. 
And cookery the first in the nation ; 
Who is proof to thy personal converse 
and wit 
Is proof to all other temptation. 



TO MR. SYME, 

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF 
PORTER. 

Jerusalem Tavern, Dumfries. 
Oh, had the malt thy strength of mind, 

Or hops the flavour of thy wit, 
'Twere drink for first of humankind, 

A gift that e'en for Syme were fit. 



INSCRIPTION ON A GOBLET. 

There's death in the cup — sae beware! 
Nay, more — there is danger in touch- 
ing; 
But wha can avoid the fell snare ? 
The man and his wine's sae be-ndtch- 
ing! 



THE TOAST, 

Burns having been called on for a song at a 
dinner given by the Dumfries Volunteers 
in honour of the anniversary of Rodney's 
great victory of the 12th of April, 1782, gave 
the following lines in reply to the call : — 

Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you 

a toast — 
Here's the memory of those on the 

twelfth that we lost! — 
That we lost, did I say? nay, by 

Heaven, that we found; 
For their fame it shall last while the 

Avorld goes round. 

The nest in succession, I'll give you — • 

The King! [may he swing! 

Whoe'er would betray him, on high 
And here's the grand fabric. Our free 

Constitution, [olution; 

As built on the base of the great Rev- 
And longer with politics not to be 

cramm'd, [damn'd; 

Be Anarchy cursed, and be Tyranny 
And who would to Liberty e'er prove 

disloyal [first trial! 

May his son be a hangman, and he his 



ON THE POET'S DAUGHTER. 

The following lines were written on the loss 
of an " only daughter and darling ch.xd " of 
the poet's, who died in the autumn of 

1795 :- 

Here lies a rose, a budding rose. 

Blasted before its bloom : 
Whose innocence did sweets disclose 

Beyond that Mower's perfume. 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, Etc. 



185 



To those who for her loss are grieved, 

This consolation's given — 
She's from a world of woe relieved, 

Aud blooms a rese in heaven. 



ON A COUNTRY LAIRD. 

Bless the Redeemer, Cardoness, 
With grateful lifted eyes, 

Who said that not the soul alone. 
But body, too, mitst rise; 

For had He said, " Tlie soul alone 
From death I will deliver;" 

Alas! alas! O Cardoness, 

Then thou hadst slept forever I 



THE TRUE LOYAL NATIVES. 

The origin of these lines is thus related by 
Cromek :— " When politics ran high the poet 
happened to be in a tavern, and the follow- 
ing lines— the production of one of ' 1 he 
True Loyal Natives' — were handed over the 
table to Burns: — 

' Ye sons of sedition, give ear to my song, 
Let Syme, Burns, and Maxv/ell, pervade 
every throng ; [quack, 

With Craken the attorney, and Mundell the 
Send Willie the monger to hell w ith a smack.' 

The poet took out a pencil and instantly 
wrote this reply: " — 

Ye true " Loyal Natives" attend to my 
song, [long; 

In uproar and riot rejoice the night 

From envy and hatred your corps is 
exempt, [of contempt ? 

But where is your shield from the darts 



EPITAPH ON TAM THE 

CHAPMAN. 

Tarn the chapman was a Mr. Kennedy, a 
travelling agent for a commercial house. 
The following lines were composed on his 
recovery from a severe illness : — 

As Tam the Chapman on a day 
Wi' Death forgather'd by the way, 
Weel pleased, he greets a wight' sae 
famous, [Thomas, 

And Death was nae less pleased wi' 
Wha cheerfully lays down the pack. 
And there blaws up a hearty crack ;^ 
His social, friendly, honest heart 
Sae tickled Death, they couldna part: 



Sae, after viewing knives and garters. 
Death takes him hame to gie him 
quarters. 



EPITAPH ON ROBERT AIKEN,ESQ. 

Know thou, stranger to the fame 
Of this much-loved, much-houour'd 

name, 
(For none that knew him need be told) 
A warmer heart Death ne'er made coldl 



ON A FRIEND. 

An honest man here lies at rest. 
As e'er God with His image blest ! 
The friend of man, the friend of truth; 
The friend of age, and guide of youth; 
Few hearts like his, with virtue 

warm'd. 
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd: 
If there's another world, he lives in 

bliss, [this. 

If there is none, he made the best of 



ON GAVIN HAMILTON. 
The poor man weeps — here Gavia 
sleeps, 
Whom canting wretches blamed : 
But with such as he, where'er he be, 
May I be saved or damn'd ! 



ON WEE JOHNNY. 

HIC JACET WEE JOHNNY. 

John Wilson, the printer of the Kilmarnock 
edition of the poet's works. 

Whoe'er thou art, reader, know 
That Death has murder'd Johnny 1 

And here his body lies f u' low — 
For saul he ne'er had ony. 



ON A CELEBRATED RULING 
ELDER. 

Here souter Hood in death does 
sleep; — 

To hell, if he's gone thither, 
Satan, gie him thy gear' to keep, 

He'll haud'^ it weel thegither. 



1 Fellow. 



2 Gossip. 



1 Wealth. 2 Hold. 



186 



BURNS' WORKS. 



ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 

James Humphrey, a working mason, was the 
" noisy polemic " of this epitaph. Burns 
and he frequently disputed on Auld-Light 
and New-Light topics, and Humphrey, 
although an illiterate man, not unfrequently 
had the best of it. He died in great pover- 
ty, having solicited charity for some time 
before his death. We have heard it said 
that in soliciting charity from the strangers 
who arrived and departed by the Mauchline 
coach, he grounded his claims to their kind- 
ness on the epitaph — "■ Please sirs, I'm 
Burns' bletherin' bitch ! " 

Below tliir stanes lie Jamie's banes: 

Death, it's my opinion, 
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' bitch 

Into thy dark dominion ! 



ON A NOTED COXCOMB. 

Light lay the earth on Billy's breast. 
His chicken heart so tender; 

But build a castle on his head. 
His skull will prop it under. 



ON MISS JEAN SCOTT OP 
ECCLEFECHAN. 

The young lady, the subject of these lines, 
dwelt in Ayr, and cheered the poet, not 
only by her sweet looks, but also with her 
sweet voice. 

Oh ! had each Scot of ancient times 
Been, Jeannie Scott, as thou art, 

The bravest heart on English ground, 
Had yielded like a coward ! 



ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY 
SQUIRE. 

As Father Adam first was fool'd, 
A case that's still too common. 

Here lies a man a woman ruled — 
The devil ruled the woman. 



ON THE SAME. 
Death, hadst thou but spared his 
life 
Whom we this day lament ! 
We freely wad exchanged the wife. 
And a' been weel content ! 

E'en as he is, cauld in his graff. 
The swap^ we yet will do't; 

1 Exchange, 



Tak thou the carlin's* carcase aff, 
Thou'se get the saul to boot. 



ON THE SAME. 
One Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell. 
When deprived of her husband she 

loved so well, 
In respect for the love and affection 

he'd show'd her 
She reduced him to dust and she drank 

up the powder. [complexion. 

But Queen Netherplace, of a different 
When call'd on to order the funeral 

direction. 
Would have eat her dead lord, on 

a slender pretence, 
Not to show her respect, but — ^to save 

the expense ! 



JOHNNY PEEP. 

Burns having been on a visit to a town in 
Cumberland one day, entered a tavern and 
opened the door of a room, but on seeing 
three men sitting, he was about to withdraw, 
when one of them shouted, "Come in, 
Johnny Peep." The poet accordingly en- 
tered, and soon became the ruling spirit 
of the party. In the midst of their mirth, it 
was proposed that each should write a verse 
of poetry, and place it along with a half- 
crown, on the table— the best poet to have 
his half-crown returned, and the other three 
to be spent in treating the party. It is 
almost needless to say that the palm of 
victory was awarded to the following lines 
by Burns : — 

Here am I, Johnny Peep; 
I saw three sheep. 

And these three sheep saw me; 
Half-a-crown apiece 
Will pay for their fleece. 

And so Johnny Peep gets free. 



THE HENPECKED HUSBAND. 

It is said that the wife of a gentleman, at 
whose table the poet was one day dining, 
expressed herself with more freedom than 
propriety regarding her husband's ex- 
travagant convivial habits, a rudeness 
which Burns rebuked in these sharp lines : — 

Cursed be the man, the poorest wretch 

in life, 
The crouching vassal to the tyrant wife! 



* Carlin — a woman with an evil tongue. la 
olden times used with reference to a womaa 
suspected of having dealings with the devil. , 



EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, Etc. 



187 



Who lias no will but by her high per- 
mission; [session; 
Who has not sixpence but in her pos- 
Who must to her his dear friend's 
secret tell; [than hell! 
Who dreads a curtain-lecture worse 
Were such the wife had fallen to my 
part, [heart; 
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her 
I'd charm her with the magic of a 
switch, [verse bitch. 
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the per- 



ON ANDREW TURNER. 

In se'enteen hunder and forty- nine, 
Satan took stuff to mak a swine. 

And cuist it in a corner; 
But wilily he changed his plan. 
And shaped it something like a man, 

And ca'd it Andrew Turner. 



A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 

O Thou, who kindly dost provide 

For every creature's want! 
We bless thee, God of nature wide. 

For all thy goodness lent: 
And, if it please thee, heavenly Guide, 

May never worse be sent; 
But, whether granted or denied. 

Lord, bless us with content! — Amen. 



ON MR. W. CRUIKSHANK. 

One of the masters of the High School, Edin- 
burgh, and a well-known friend of the 
poet's. 

Honest Will's to heaven gane, 
And mony shall lament him; 

Pis faults they a' in Latin lay, 
In English nane e'er kent them. 



ON WAT. 

Sic a reptile was Wat, 

Sic a miscreant slave. 
That the very worms damn'd him 

When laid in his grave. 
" In his flesh there's a famine," 

A starved reptile cries; 
" And his heart is rank poison," 
^ Another replies. 



ON THE KIRK OP LAMINGTON 

IN CLYDESDALE. 

Having- been stayed by a storm one Sunday at 
Lamington in Clydesdale, the poet went to 
church ; but the day was so cold, the place 
so uncomfortable, and the sermon so poor, 
that he left the following poetic protest 
in the pew : — 

As cauld a wind as ever blew, 
A caulder kirk, and in't but few; 
As cauld a minister's e'er spak, 
Ye'se a' be het ere I come back. 



A MOTHER'S ADDRESS TO HER 
INFANT. 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie: 
My blessin's upon thy bonny ee-brie ! 

Thy smiles are sae like my blithe sod- 

ger laddie, [me! 

Thou's aye the dearer and dearer to 



VERSES 

WRITTEN ON A PANE OP GLASS, ON 
THE OCCASION OF A NATIONAL 
THANKSGIVINa FOR A NAVAL VIC- 
TORY. 

Ye hypocrites ! are these your pranks? 
To murder men, and gie God thanks I 
For shame ! gie o'er — proceed no fur- 
ther — [ther I 
God won't accept your thanks for mur- 



I MURDER hate by field or flood. 

Though glory's name may screen us; 

In wars at hame I'll spend my blood. 
Life-giving wars of Venus. 

The deities that I adore. 
Are social peace and plenty; 

I'm better pleased to make one more, 
Than be the death of twenty. 



My bottle is my holy pool, 

That heals the wounds o' care and dool; 

And pleasure is a wanton trout. 

An' ye drink it dry, ye'll find him out. 



ON JOHN BUSHBY. 

Bushby, it seems, was a sharp-witted, clever 
lawyer, who happened to cross the poet's 
path in politics, and was therefore consid- 
ered a fair subject for a lampoon. 

Here lies John Bushby, honest man 1 
Cheat himj devil, gin you can. 



LINES TO JOHN RANKINE. 

These lines were written by Burns while on 
his death-bed, and forwarded to Rankine 
immediately after the poet's death. 

He wlio of Rankine sang lies stiff and 

dead, [head; 

And a green grassy liillock haps his 

Alas ! alas ! a devilish change indeed ! 



TO MISS JESSY LEWARS. 

" During the last illness of the poet," says 
Cunningham, " Mr. Brown, the surgeon 
who attended him. came in, and stated that 
he had been looking at a collection of wild 
beasts just arrived, and pulling out the list 
Dt the animals, held it out to Jessy Lewars. 
The poet snatched it from him, took up a 
pen, and with red ink wrote the following 
on the back of the paper, saying, ' Now it is 
fit to be presented to a lady.' " 

Talk not to me of savages 

From Afric's burning sun, 
No savage e'er could rend my heart 

As, Jessy, thou hast done. 

But Jessy's lovely hand in mine, 

A mutual faith to plight. 
Not even to view the heavenly choir 

Would be so blest a sight. 



THE TOAST. 

On another occasion, while Miss Lewars was 
waiting upon him during his illness, he took 
up a crystal goblet, and writing the follow- 
ing lines on it, presented it to her :— 

Fill me with the rosy wine, 
Call a toast — a toast divine; 
Give the poet's darling flame, 
Lovely Jessy be the name; 
Then thou mayst freely boast 
Thou hast given a peerless toast. 



ON THE SICKNESS OP MISS JESSY 
LEWARS. 

On Miss Lewars complaining of illness in the 
hearing of the poet, he said he would pro- 
vide for the worst, and seizing another 
crystal goblet, he wrote as follows : — 

Say, sages, what's the charm on earth 
Can turn Death's dart aside ? 



It is not purity and worth. 
Else Jessy had not died. 



ON THE RECOVERY OF JESSY 
LEWARS. 

On her recovering health, the poet saiJ 
" There is a poetic reason for it,' and com 
posed the following : — 

But rarely seen since nature's birth, 

The natives of the sky; 
Yet still one seraph's left on earth 

For Jessy did not die. 



A BOTTLE AND AN HONEST 
FRIEND. 

Some doubt has been expressed by the 
brother of the poet as to the authenticity ol 
this small piece : — 

" There's nane that's blest of humankind 
But the cheerful and the gay, man. 
Fal, lal," &c. 

Here's a bottle and an honest friend! 

What wad you wish for mair, man 1 
Wha kens, before his life may end, 

What his share may be of care, mant 

Then catch the moments as they fly. 
And use them as ye ought, man; 

Believe me. Happiness is shy, [man. 
And comes not aye when sought, 



GRACE AFTER DINNER. 

Thou, in whom we live and move. 
Who madest the sea and shore ; 

Thy goodness constantly we prove, 
And, grateful, would adore. 

And if it please" Thee, Power above. 
Still grant us, with such store. 

The friend we trust, the fair we love, 
And we desire no more. 



ANOTHER. 

LoBD, we thank Thee and adore, 
For temp'ral gifts we little merit; 

At present we will ask no more — 
Let William Hyslop give the spirit \ 



SONGS. 



MT HANDSOME NELL. 

Tune — " I am a man unmarried." 
Nelly Kilpatrick, the heroine of this son^, 
was the daughter of the village blacksmith, 
and the poet s first partner in the labours of 
the harvest-field. She vas the " sonsie 
quean" he sings of, whose " witching smile" 
first made his heart-strings tingle. " This 
song," he says, " was the first of my per- 
formances, and done at an early period of 
my life, when my heart glowed with honest, 
warm simplicity — unacquainted and uncor- 
rupted with the ways of a wicked world. 
It has many faults ; but I remember I com- 
posed it in a wild enthusiasm of passion ; 
and to this hour I never recollect it but my 
heart melts — my blood sallies, at the remem- 
brance." 

Oh, once I loved a bonny lass, 

Aye, and I love her still; 
And whilst that virtue warms my breast 

I'll love my handsome Nell. 

Fal, lal de ral, &c. 
As bonny lasses I hae seen. 

And mony full as braw;' 
But for a modest, gracef u' mien, 

The like I never saw. 

A bonny lass, I will confess, 

Is pleasant to the ee 
But without some better qualities 

She's no a lass for me. 

But Nelly's looks are blithe and sweet ; 

And, what is best of a' — 
Her reputation is complete. 

And fair without a flaw. 

She dresses aye sae clean and neat, 

Baith decent and genteel ; 
And then there's something in her gait 

Gars^ ony dress look weel. 



1 Well dressed. 



< Makes. 



A gaudy dress and gentle air 
May slightly touch the heait; 

But it's innocence and modesty 
That polishes the dart. 

'Tis this in Nelly pleases me, 
'Tis this enchants my soul! 

For absolutely in my breast 
She reigns without control. 



I DEEAM'D I LAY WHERE FLOW- 
ERS WERE SPRINGING. 

" These two stanzas," says the poet, " which 
are among the oldest of my printed pieces, 
I composed v>'hen I was seventeen." 

I dream'd I lay where flowers were 
springing 

Gayly in the sunny beam. 
Listening to the wild birds singing 

By a falling crystal stream : 
Straight the sky grew black and daring; 

Through the woods the whirlwinds 
rave; 
Trees with aged arms were warring, 

O'er the swelling, drumlie wave. 

Such was my life's deceitful morning, 

Such the pleasures I enjoy'd; 
But lang or* noon, loud tempests storm- 
ing, 

A' my flowery bliss destroy'd. [me. 
Though fickle Fortitne has deceived 

(She promised fair, and perform'd 
but ill,) 
Of mony a joy and hope bereaved me, 

I bear a heart shall support me still. 



190 



BURNS' WORKS. 



MY NANNIE, 0. 
Tune — " My Nannie, O." 

Behind yon hills, where Lugar flows 
'Mang moors and mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has closed. 
And I'll awa' to Nannie, O. 

The westlin wind blaws loud and shrill: 
The night's baith mirk and rainy, 0; 

But I'll get my plaid, and out I'll steal. 
And owre the hills to Nannie, 0. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, and 
young, 

Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, 0: 
May ill befa' the flattering tongue 

That wad beguile my Nannie, O, 

Her face is fair, her heart is true. 
As spotless as she's bonny, O: 

The opening go wan,' wat wi' dew, 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree. 

And few there be that ken me, O; 

But what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome aye to Nannie, O. 

My riches a's my penny -fee,^ 
And I maun guide it cannie, 0; 

But warl's gear^ ne'er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O. 

Our auld guidman delights to view 
His sheep and kye thrive bonny, 0; 

But I'm as blithe that bauds his plough. 
And has na care but Nannie, O. 

Come weel, come woe, I care na by, 
I'll tak what Heaven will sen' me, O; 

Nae ither care in life have I 
But live and love my Nannie, O ! 



O TIBBIE, I HAE SEEN THE DAY. 

Tune — " Invercauld's Reel." 

O Tibbie, I hae seen the day 

Ye wadna been sae shy; 
For lack o' gear ye lightly' me. 

But, trowth, I care na by. 



Yestreen 1 met you. ov. the moor. 
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure.* 
Ye geck^ at me because I'm poor. 
But feint a hair care I. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think, 
Because ye hae the name o' clink,^ 
That ye can please me at a wink 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

But sorrow talc him that's sae mean. 
Although his pouch o' coin were clean, 
Wha follows ony saucy quean,^ 
That looks sae proud and high. 

Although a lad were e'er sae smart. 
If that he want the yellow dirt 
Ye'll cast yer head anither airt,* 
And answer him f u* dry. 

But if he hae the name o' gear,' 
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier. 
Though hardly he, for sense or lear,^ 
Be better than the kye.® 

But Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice; 
The deil a ane wad spier your price 
Were ye as poor as I. 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 
I wadna gie her in her sark'" 
For thee, wi' a' thy thousan' mark ! 
Ye need na look sae high. 



Daisj'. 



2 Wages. 3 World's wealth. 
1 Slight. 



ON CESSNOCK BANKS. 
Tune—" If he be a butcher neat and trim." 

On Cessnock banks there lives a lass. 
Could I describe her shape and mien. 

The graces of her weelfaurd' face, 
And the glancing of her sparkling 
een. 

She's fresher than the morning dawn. 
When rising Phoebus' first is seen. 

When dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

She's stately, like yon youthful ash 
That grows the cowslip braes be, 

tween. 



2 Dust driven by the wind. 
Money. * Wench. •* Direction. 
" Learning. ^ Cows, w Shift. 

1 Well-favoured. 



8 Mock. 4 
1 Wealtli, 



SONGS. 



191 



And slioots it's head above each busli ; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

She's spotless as the flowering thorn. 
With flowers so white and leaves so 
green, 
When purest in the dewy morn ; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

Her looks are like the sportive lamb, 
When flowery May adorns the scene. 

That wantons round its bleating dam; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

Her hair is like the curling mist [e'en 
That shades the mountain-side at 

When flower-reviving rains are past; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

Her forehead's like the showery bow. 
When shiuing sunbeams intervene. 

And gild the distant mountain's brow; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

Her voice is like the evening thrush 
That sings on Cessnock banks un- 
seen, [bush; 
While his mate sits nestling in the 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

Her lips are like the cherries ripe 

That sunny walls from Boreas 

screen — [sight; 

They tempt the taste and charm the 

And she's twa glancing, sparkling 

een. 

Her teeth are like a flock of sheep 
With fleeces newly washen clean, 

That slowly mount the rising steep; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze 
That gently stirs the blossom'd bean 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas ; 
And she's twa glancing, sparkling 
een. 

But it's not her air, her form, her face. 
Though matching beauty's fabled 
queen, 
But the mind that shines in every grace, 
^ And chiefly in her sparkling een. 



IMPROTED VEKSION. 

On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells. 
Could I describe her shape and mien. 

Our lassies a' she far excels; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's sweeter than the morning dawn. 
When rising Phcebus first is seen, 

And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's stately, like yon youthful ash 
That grows the cowslip braes be- 
tween, [fresh; 

And drinks the stream witJi vigour- 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

She's spotless, like the flowering thorn. 
With flowers so white, and leaves so 
green, 

When purest in the dewy morn; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her looks are like the vernal May, 
When evening Phcebus shines serene. 

While birds rejoice on every spray; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her hair is like the curling mist [e'en 
That climbs the mountain-sides at 

When flower-reviving rains are past; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her forehead's like the showery bow, 
When gleaming sunbeams intervene. 

And gild the distant mountain's brow; 
And she's tAva sparkling, roguish sen. 

Her cheeks are like yon crimson gem, 
The pride of all the flowery scene. 

Just opening on its thorny stem; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her teeth are like the nightly snow. 
When pale the morning rises keen. 

While hid the murm'ring streamlets 
flow; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her lips are like yon cherries ripe 
That sunny walls from Boreas 
screen — [sight ; 

They tempt the taste and chann the 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

Her breath is like the fragrant breeze. 
That gently stirs the blossom'd beau 

When Phoebus sinks behind the seas; 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 



192 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Her voice is like tlie evening thrush, 
That sings on Cessnock banks un- 
seen, [bush; 

While his mate sits nestling in the 
And she's twa sparkling, roguish een. 

But it's not her air, her form, her face. 

Though matching beauty's fabled 

queen, [grace; 

'Tis the mind that shines in every 
And chiefly in her roguish een. 



MY FATHER WAS A FARMER. 

Tune — "The Weaver and his Shuttle, O." 

" The following song," says the poet, " is a 
wild rhapsody, miserably deficient in versi- 
fication ; but the sentiments were the 
genuine feelings of my heart at the time it 
was written." 

My father was a farmer 

Upon the Carrick border, O, 
And carefully he bred me 

In decency and order, O; 
He bade me act a manly part. 

Though I had ne'er a farthing, 0, 
For without an honest manly heart. 

No man was worth regarding, O. 

Then out into the world 

My course I did determine, 0; 
Though to be rich was not my wish 

Yet to be great was charming, O: 
My talents they were not the worst, 

Nor yet my education, 0; 
Resolved was I, at least to try, 

To mend my situation, 0. 

In many a way, and vain essay, 

I courted Fortune's favour, 0; 
Some cause unseen still stept between. 

To frustrate each endeavotir, O; 
Sometimes by foes I was o'erpower'd; 

Sometimes by friends forsaken, 0; 
And when my hope was at the top, 

I still was worst mistaken, O. 

Then sore harass'd, and tired at last, 

With Fortune's vain delusion, O, 
I dropt my schemes, like idle dreams. 

And came to this conclusion, O: 
The past was bad, and the future hid ; 

Its good or ill untried, 0; 
But the present hour was in my power, 

And so I would enjoy it, 0. 



No help, nor hope, nor view had I, 

Nor person to befriend me, 0; 
So I must toil, and sweat, and broil. 

And labour to sustain me, O; 
To plough and sow, to reap and mow. 

My father bred me early, 0; 
For one, he said, to labour bred. 

Was a match for Fortune fairly, 0. 

Thus all obscure, unknown, and poor. 

Through life I'm doomed to wan- 
der, 0, 
Till down my weary bones I lay 

In everlasting slumber, 0, 
No view nor care, but shun whate'er 

Might breed me pain or sorrow, O* 
I live to-day as well's I may. 

Regardless of to-morrow, O. 

But cheerful still, I am as well 

As a monarch in a palace, O, 
Though Fortune's frown still hunts 
me down. 

With all her wonted malice, 0: 
\ make indeed my daily bread. 

But ne'er can make it farther, O; 
But as daily bread is all I need, 

I do not much regard her, O. 

When sometimes by my labour 

I earn a little m^aney, 0, 
Some unforseen misfortune 

Comes generally upon me, O: 
Mischance, mistake, or by neglect,. 

Or my good-natured folly, O; 
But come what will, I've sworn it still 

I'll ne'er be melancholy, O. 

All you who follow wealth and power 

With unremitting ardour, O, 
The more in this you look for bliss. 

You leave your view the farther, O, 
Had you the wealth Potosi boasts. 

Or nations to adore you, O, 
A cheerful, honest-hearted clow 

I will prefer before you, O 1 



JOHN BARLEYCORN: 

A BALLAD. 

The following is an improvement of an early 
song of English origin, a copy of which 
was obtained by Mr. Robert Jameson from 
a black-letter sheet in the Pepys Library, 
Cambridge, and first publisned in his 
"Ballads:''— 



SONGS. 



193 



There were three kings into the east, 
Three kings both great and high ; 

And they hae swore a solemn oath 
John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plough and plough'd him 
down, 

Put clods upon his head; 
And they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

But the cheerful spring came kindly on, 
And showers began to fall; 

John Barleycorn got up again, 
And sore surprised them all. 

The sultry suns of summer came, 
And he grew thick and strong; 

His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears. 
That no one should him wrong. 

The sober autumn enter'd mild. 
When he grew wan and pale; 

His bending joints and drooping head 
Show'd he began to fail. 

His colour sicken'd more and more 

He faded into age; 
And then his enemies began 

To show their deadly rage. 

They've ta'en a weapon long and sharp. 

And cut him by the knee; 
Then tied him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgerie. 

They laid him down upon his back. 
And cudgell'd him full sore; 

They hung him up before the storm, 
And turu'd him o'er and o'er. 

They filled up a darksome pit 

With water to the brim; 
They heaved in John Barleycorn, 

There let him sink or swim. 

They laid him out upon the floor. 
To work him further woe: 

And still, as signs of life appear'd. 
They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted o'er a scorching flame 

The marrow of his bones; 
But a miller used him worst of all— 

He crushed him 'tween two stones. 

And they hae ta'en his very heart's 
blood, 
And drank it round and roaud, 



And still the more and more they 
drank, 
Their joy did more abound. 

John Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise; 
For if you do but taste his blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise. 

'Twill make a man forget his woe; 

'Twill heighten all his joy: 
'Twill make the widow's heart to sing, 

Though the tear were in her eye. 

Then let us toast John Barleycorn, 

Each man a glass in hand; 
And may his great posterity 

Ne'er fail in old Scotland 1 



MONTGOMERY'S PEGGY. 

Tune — " Gala Water." 

" Montgomery's Peggy." says the poet, "who 
had been bred in a style of life rather 
elegant, was my deity for six or eight 

months." 

Although my bed were in yon muir, 
Amang the "heather, in my plaidie, 

Yet happy, happy would I be. 
Had I my dear Montgomery's Peggy. 

When o'er the hill beat surly storms. 
And winter nights were dark and 
rainy; 

I'd seek some dell, and in my arms 
I'd shelter dear Montgomery's Peggy. 

Were I a baron proud and high, 
And horse and servants waiting 
ready, 
Then a' 'twad gie o' joy to me, 
The sharin't wi' Montgomery's 
Peggy. 



MARY MORISON. 
Tune—" Bide ye yet.'' 

Mary, at thy windoAv be. 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! 
Those smiles and glances let me see 

That make the miser's treasure poor: 
How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun; 
Could I the rich reward secure, 

The lovely Mary Morisou. 



194 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Yestreen, when to the trembling 
string, [ha', 

The dance gaed through the lighted 
To thee my fancy took its wing — 

I sat, but neither heard nor saw: 
Though this was fair, and that was 
braw, 

And yon the toast of a' the town, 
I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 

' ' Ye are na Mary Morison. " 

Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 

Wha for thy sake wad gladly die ? 
Or canst thou break that heart of his 

Whase only faut is loving thee? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown; 
A thought ungentle canna be 

'ihe thought o' Mary Morison. 



THE RIGS 0' BARLEY. 

Tune — " Corn Rigs are Bonny." 

It was upon a Lammas night. 

When corn rigs are bonny, 
Beneath the moon's unclouded light, 

I held awa' to Annie: 
The time flew by wi' tentless heed. 

Till, 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed 

To see me through the barley. 

The sky was blue, the wind was still, 

The moon was shining clearly, 
I set her down, wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley: 
I kent her heart was a' my ain, 

I loved her most sincerely: 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again, 

Amang the rigs o' barley. 

1 lock'd her in my fond embrace! 

Her heart was beating rarely. 
My blessings on that happy place, 

Amang the rigs o' barley! 
But by the moon and stars so bright, 

That shone that hour so clearly! 
She aye shall bless that happy night, 

Amang the rigs o' barley, 

I hae been blithe wi' comrades dear; 

I hae been merry drinkin' ! 
1 hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear; 

I hae been "happy thinkin' : 



But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Though three times doubled fairly, 

That happy night was worth them a', 
Amang the rigs o' barley. 

Corn rigs, and barley rigs, 
And corn rigs are bonny: 

I'll ne'er forget that happy night, 
Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



PEGGY. 



Tune — " I had a horse, I had nae mair." 

Now westlin winds and slaught'ring 
guns 
Bring autumn's pleasant weather; 
The moorcock springs on whirring 
wings, 
Amang the blooming heather: 
Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain. 

Delights the weary farmer; 
And the moon shines bright, when I 
rove at night. 
To muse upon my charmer. 

The partridge loves the fruitful fells; 

The plover loves the mountains; 
The woodcock haunts the lonely dells; 

The soaring hern the fountains: 
Through lofty groves the cushat' roves, 

The path of man to shun it; 
The hazel bush o'erhangs the thrush. 

The spreading thorn the linnet. 

Thus every kind their pleasure find. 

The savage and the tender; 
Some social join, and leagues combine; 

Some solitary wander: 
Avaunt, away ! the cruel sway, 

Tyrannic man's dominion; [cry, 

The sportsman's joy, the murdering 

The fluttering, gory pinion ! 

But Peggy, dear, the evening's clear, 

Thick flies the skimming swallow; 
The sky is blue, the fields in view. 

All fading green and yellow: 
Come, let us stray our gladsome way, 

And view the charms of nature; 
The rustling com, the fruited thorn. 

And every happy creature. 

We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk. 
Till the silent moon shine clearly; 



1 Wood-pigeon. 



SONGS. 



195 



I'll grasp tliy waist, and, fondly prest, 
Swear how I love thee dearly: 

Not vernal showers to budding flowers, 
Not autumn to the farmer. 

So dear can be, as thou to me, 
My fair, my lovely charmer 1 



GREEN GROW THE RASHES, ! 
Tune — " Green grow the rashes." 
Green grow the rashes, ! 
Green grow the rashes, ! 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend. 
Are spent amang the lasses, ! 

There's nought but care on every han'. 
In every hour that passes, O: 

What signifies the life o' man. 
An' 'twere na for the lasses, ? 

The warl'ly^ race may riches chase, 
And riches still may fly them, ; 

And though at last they catch them 
fast. 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, 0. 

But gie me a canny"'' hour at een, 
My arms about my dearie, 0, 

And warl'ly cares, and warl'ly men, 
May a' gae tapsalteerie,^ O. 

For you sae douce,^ ye sneer at this, 
Ye're nought but senseless asses. 0; 

The wisest man the v/arl' e'er saw, 
He dearly loved the lasses, O. 

Auld Nature swears the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes, 0, 

Her 'prentice hand she tried on man, 
And then she made the lasses, 0. 



THE CURE FOR ALL CARE. 

Tune — "Prepare, my dear brethren, to the 
tavern let's fly." 

The poet composed this song shortly after 
joining the Torbolton Mason Lodge, which 
was long noted in the west for its festivities. 

No churchman am I for to rail and to 
write, [figlit, 

No statesman nor soldier to plot or to 

No sly man of business contriving a 
snare — [my care. 

For a big-bellied bottle's the whole of 



1 Worldly. 
* Grave. 



' Happy, lucky. ^ Topsy-turvy, 



The peer I don't envy, I give him his 
bow; flow; 

I scorn not the peasant, though ever so 

But a club of good fellows, Ulie those 
that are here, [care. 

And a bottle like this, are my glory and 

Here passes the squire on his brother — 
his horse ; [his purse ; 

There centum per centum, the cit with 

But see you the crown, how it waves 
in the air ! [care. 

There a big-bellied bottle still eases my 

The wife of my bosom, alas ! she did 
die; [fly; 

For sweet consolation to church I did 
I found that old Solomon proved it fair. 
That a big-bellied bottle's a cure for all 
care. 

I once was persuaded a venture to 
make; [wreck; — 

A letter informed me that all was to 

But the pursy old landlord just wad- 
dled up stairs [cares. 

With a glorious bottle that ended my 

" Life's cares they are comforts," — a 

maxim laid down 
By the bard, what d'ye call him, that 

wore the black gown; [a hair; 

And faith, I agree with the old prig to 
For a big- bellied bottle's a heaven of a 

care. 

ADDED IN A MASON LODGE. 

Then fill up a bumper, and make it 
o'erflow, [throw ; 

And honours masonic prepare for to 

May every true brother of the compass 
and square [with care ! 

Have a big-bellied bottle when harass'd 



MY JEAN ! 

Tune—" The Northern Lass.'' 

" The heroine of this sweet snatch," says Cun- 
ningham, " was bonny Jean. It was com- 
posed when the poet contemplated the West 
India voyage, and an eternal separation 
from the land and all that was dear to 
him." 

Though cruel fate should bid us part, 

Far as the pole and line, 
Her dear idea round my heart 

Should tenderly entwine. 



196 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Tliougli mountains rise, and deserts 
hov/1, 

And oceans roar between; 
5et, dearer than my deathless soul, 

1 staLU. would love my Jean. 



A FRAGMENT. 

Tune — " John Anderson my Jo." 

One night as I did wander. 

When corn begins to shoot, 
I sat me down to ponder 

Upon an auld tree root: 
Auld Ayr ran by before me, 

And bicker'd' to the seas; 
A cushat croodled'^ o'er me, 

That echo'd through the braes. 



WHEN CLOUDS IN SKIES DO 
COME TOGETHER. 

" The following:," says the poet in his first 
Commonplace Book, " was an extempore 
effusion, composed under a train of misfor- 
tunes which threatened to undo me alto- 
gether." 

When clouds in skies do come together 

To hide the brightness of the 

sun [weather 

There will surely be some pleasant 

When a' their storms are past and 

gone. 

Though fickle Fortune has deceived 
me, [but ill; 

She promised fair, and perform'd 
Of mistress, friends, and wealth be- 
reaved me, [still. 
Yet I bear a heart shall support me 

I'll act with prudence, as far's I'm able; 

But if success I must never find, 
Then come Misfortune, I bid thee wel- 
come, [mind. 

I'll meet thee with an undaunted 



female attendant. On arriving at the ford 
of a rivulet which crossed Uie road, he 
found it so deep in flood, that a female way- 
farer sat on the opposite side unable to 
cross ; and, notwithstanding his own haste, 
he conveyed the woman through the streaux 
on his horse. On returning from Ayr with 
the midwife, he found the gipsy, for such 
she proved to be, seated at his cottage fire- 
side ; and on the child's being placed m the 
lap of the woman, shortly after his birth, 
she is said to have inspected his palm, 
after the manner of her tribe, and made the 
predictions which the poet has embodied in 
the song. 

There was a lad was born in Kyle, 
But whatna day o' whatna style, 
I doubt it's hardly worth the while 
To be sae nice wi' Robin. 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 

Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; 
Robin was a rovin' boy, 
Rantin' rovin' Robin ! 

Our monarch's hindmost year but ane 
Was five and twenty days begun, 
'Twas then a blast o' Januar win 
Blew hansel in on Robin. 

The gossip keekit' in his loof,* 
Quo' she, wha lives will see the proof. 
This waly^ boy will be nae coof'* — 
I think we'll ca' him Robin. 

He'll hae misfortunes great and sma', 
But aye a heart aboon them a'; 
He'll be a credit till us a', 
We'll a' be proud o' Robin. 

But, sure as three times three mak 

nine, 
I see, by ilka score and line. 
This chap will dearly like our kin', 
So leeze^ me on thee, Robin. 

Guid faith, quo' she, I doubt ye gar 
The bonny lasses lie aspar, 
But twenty fauts ye may hae waur. 
So blessin's on thee, Robin ! 



ROBIN. 

Tune — " Dainty Davie." 

It is related that when the poet's mother felt 
her time approach, his father took horse in 
the darkness of a stormy January night, 
and set out for Ayr to procure the necessary 



• Raced leapingly. ^ Wood-pigeon cooed. 



LUCKLESS FORTUNE. 

RAGING Fortune's withering blast 
Has laid my leaf full low, O ! 

raging Fortune's withering blast 
Has laid my leaf full low, ! 



1 Peeped. ^ Palm. 
term of endearment. 



3 Goodly. * Fool. * A 



SONGSu 



197 



My stem was fair, my bud was green, 
My blossom sweet did blow, O; 

Tlie dew fell fresh, the suu rose mild, 
And made my brandies grow, O. 

But luckless Fortune's nortliern storms 
Laid a' my blossoms low, 0; 

But luckless Fortune's northern storms 
Laid a' my blossoms low, O. 



THE MAUCHLINE LADY. 
Tune—" I had a horse, I had naetnair." 

When first I came to Stewart Kyle, 

My mind it was na steady: 
Where'er I gaed, where'er I rade, 

A mistress still I had aye; 

But when I came roun' by Mauchline 
town, 

Not dreadin' ony body, 
My heart was caught, before I thought. 

And by a Mauchline lady.* 



THE BRAES 0' BALLOCHMYLE. 

Tune — " Braes o' Ballochmyle." 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen. 

The flowers decay'd on Catrine lea, 
Nae laverock^ sang on hillock green. 

But nature sicken'd on the ee. 
Through faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel in beauty's bloom the while. 
And aye the wild- wood echoes rang, 

Fareweel the Braes o' Ballochmyle ! 

Low in your wintry beds.ye flowers. 

Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair; 
Ye birdies dumb in withering bowers. 

Again ye'll charm the vocal air. 
But here, alas ! for me nae mair 

Shall birdie charm or floweret smile : 
Fareweel the bonny banks of Ayr, 

Fareweel, fareweel ! sweet Balloch- 
myle ! 



Tune- 



young PEGGY. 

' The last time 1 cam o'er the muir." 



Young Peggy blooms our bonniest lass. 
Her blush is like the morning, 



The ros3' dawn the springing grass 
With pearly gems adorning: 

Her eyes outshine the radiant beams 
That gild the passing shower, 

And glitter o'er the crystal streams. 
And cheer each freshening flower. 

Her lips more than the cherries bright, 

A richer dye has graced them ; 
They charm th' admiring gazer's sight. 

And sweetly temi*. to taste them ; 
Her smile is, like the evening, mild. 

When feather'd tribes are courting. 
And little lamb ins wanton wild, 

In playful bands disporting. 

Were Fortune lovely Peggy's foe, 

Such sweetness would relent her; 
As blooming Spring unbends the brow 

Of surly, savage Winter. 
Detraction's eye no aim can gain, 

Her winning powers to lessen; 
And spiteful Envy grins in vain. 

The poison'd tooth to fasten. 

Ye Powers of Honour, Love, and 
Truth, 

From every ill defend her; 
Inspire the highly-favour'd youth 

The destinies intend her; 
Still fan the sweet connubial flame, 

Kesponsive in each bosom; 
And bless the dear parental name 

With many a filial blossom. 



1 Lark. 
* Jean Armour. 



THE EA^NTIN' DOG THE DADDIE 
O'T. 

Tune—" East neuk o' Fife." 

The subject of this lively ditty was a girl of 
the name of Elizabeth Paton, a domestic 
servant in the poet's house, and the mother 
of his illegitimate child — "sonsie. smirking, 
dear-bought Bess." " I composed it," he 
says, "pretty early in life, and sent it to a 
young girl, a very particular acquaintance 
of mme, who was at the time under a 
cloud." 

Oh wha my babie-clouts' will buy ? 

Oh wha will tent'^ me when I cry ?^ 

Wha will kiss me where I lie ? — ' 

The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

Oh wha will own he did the faut? 
Oh wha will buy the groanin' maut 1^ 



' Baby-clothes. ^ Heed. ^ Malt to brew 
ale to welcome the birth of a child. 



198 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Oil wlia will tell me how to ca't — 
Tlie rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

When I mount the creepie-chair,* 
Wha will sit beside me there ! 
Gie me Rob, I'll seek nae mair, 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 

Wha will crack to me my lane ? 
Wha will mak me fidgin-fain ?* 
Wha will kiss me o'er again ? — 
The rantin' dog the daddie o't. 



• MENIE.t 

Tune — " Johnny's Gray Breeks." 

The chorus of this beautiful lyric was bor- 
rowed by B rns f-om a song composed by 
an Edinburgh gentleman; but it has been 
generally objected to by critics as interfer- 
ing with the sombre sentiments of the 
lines. 

Again rejoicing nature sees 

Her robe assume its vernal hiies, 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
All freshly steep'd in morning dews. 



And maun I still on Menie dote, 

And bear the scorn that's in her ee ? 

For it's jet, jet black, and it's like a 
hawk, 
And it winna let a body be I 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw. 
In vain to me the violets spring; 

In vain to me in glen or shawi 

The mavis and the lintwhite^ sing. 

The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
Wi' joy the tentie^ seedsman stalks; 

But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks.* 

The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry. 

The stately swan majestic swims. 
And everything is blest but I. 

The shepherd steeks^ his faulding 

slap,^ [shrill; 

And owre the moorlands whistles 

* Fidget with delight. 

1 Wood. 2 Linnet, s Heedful. ■» Wali:es. 
* Shuts. * Gate. 

* The stool of repentance, on which cul- 
prits formerly sat when making public satis- 
faction in the church. 
1 t The common abbreviation of Mariamne. 



Wi' wild, unequal, wandering step, 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and 

dark, 

Blithe waukens by the daisy's side. 

And mounts and bings on fluttering 

wings, [glide. 

A woe - worn ghaist I hameward 

Come, Winter, with thy angry howl, 
And raging bend the naked tree; 

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless 
soul. 
When nature all is sad like me I 



LAMENT, 

WRITTEN AT A TIME WHEN THE POET 
WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE SCOTLAND. 

Tune—" The Banks of the Devon." 

These verses were first given to the public in 
the columns of the Dumfries Journal. 



O'er the mist-shrouded cliffs of the 
lone mountain straying. 
Where the wild winds of winter in- 
cessantly rave, 
What woes wring my heart while in- 
tently surveying 
The storm's gloomy path on the 
breast of the wave! 

Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to 

wail, [native shore; 

Ere ye toss me afar from my loved 

Where the flower which bloom'd 

sweetest in Coila's green vale. 

The pride of my bosom, my Mary's 

no more! 

No more by the banks of the streamlet 

Ave'll wander, [in the wave: 

And smile at the moon's rim pled face 

No more shall my arms cling with 

fondness around her, 

For the dewdrops of morning fall 

cold on her grave. 

No more shall the soft thrill of love 

warm my breast, [tant shore; 

I haste with the storm to a far-dis- 

Where, unknown, unlamented, my 

ashes shall rest, [more. 

And joy shall revisit my bosom no 



SONGS. 



199 



THERE WAS A LASS. 
Tune — " Duncan Davison." 
There was a lass, they ca'd her Meg, 
And she held o'er the moor to spin; 
There was a lad that foUow'd her. 
They ca'd him Duncan Davison. 
The moor was driegh^ and Meg was 

skiegh,^ 
Her favour Duncan couldnawin; 
For vd' the rock she wad him knock. 
And aye she shook the temper-pin. 

As o'er the moor they lightly foor,* 
A burn was clear, a glen was green, 

Upon the banks they eased their 
shanks, 

And aye she set the wheel between: 

But Duncan swore a haly aitli. 

That Meg should be a bride the morn. 

Then Meg took np her spinnin' graith,* 
And flang them a' out cy'er the burn. 

We'll big a house — a wee, wee house. 

And we will live like king and 
queen, 
Sae blithe and merry we will be 

When ye sit by the wheel at e'en. 
A man may drink and no be drunk; 

A man may fight and no be slain; 
A man may kiss a bonny lass. 

And aye be welcome back again. 



AFTON WATER. 

Tune— "The Yellow-hair'd Laddie." 

Flow gently, sweet Af ton, among thy 
green braes, [thy praise; 

Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in 

My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring 
stream — [her dream. 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not 

Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds 
through the glen, [thorny den. 

Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon 
Thoii green-crested lapwing, thy 
screaming forbear — [ing fair. 

I charge you disturb not my slumber- 
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbour- 
ing hills, [winding rills; 
Far mark'd with the courses of clear 



' Tedious, 
* Gear. 



» High-minded. ^ Went. 



There daily I wander as noon rises high. 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in 
my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green val- 
leys below, [roses blow; 
Where wild in the woodlands the prim- 
There oft as mild evening weeps over 
the lea, [and me. 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely 
it glides, [resides; 

And winds by the cot where my Mary 

How wanton thy waters hei 'snowy feet 
lave, [thy clear wave. 

As gathering sweet flowerets she stems 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy 
green braee, [my lays; 

Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of 

My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring 
stream — [not her dream ! 

Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 

Tune — " The deuks dang o'er my daddy." 

" This," says the poet, " was a composition of 
mine before I was at all known in the 
world. My Highland lassie [Mary] was g 
warm-hearted, charming young creature aa 
ever blessed a man with generous love." 
For an account of this simple, interesting 
girl, whom the poet's passion has placed ia 
Fame's proud temple," and clothed with 
immortality as with a garment, the reader 
is referred to the introduction to the verses 
entitled, " To Mary in Heaven," p. 219. 
Burns having sent this song to Mary when 
she was residing with her parents in the 
Highlands, her mother saw it, and greatly 
admired it ; and years after the death of 
this gentle girl, whom every one seems to 
have loved, it is said the poor old woman 
was wont to soothe her sorrow by singing 
to her grandchildren the sweet strains in 
which the poet has celebrated the beauty 
and charms of her favourite daughter. Hav- 
ing outlived her husband and many of her 
children, she died in great poverty at 
Greenock in 1822. 

Nae gentle* dames, though e'er sae 

fair. 
Shall ever be my Muse's care: 



* Gentle is used here in opposition to sim- 
ple, in the Scottish and old English sense of 
the word. — Nae gentle dames — no high-blood- 
ed names. — Currie. 



soo 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Their titles a' are empty show; 
Oie me my Highland Lassie, O. 

Within the glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the plains sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wi' right good will. 
To sing my Highland Lassie, O. 

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine. 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland Lassie, O. 

But fickle Fortune frowns on me, 
And I maun cross the raging sea ! 
But while my crimson currents flow, 
I'll love my Highland Lassie, O. 

Although through foreign climes I 

range, 
I know her heart will never change, 
For her bosom burns with honour's 

glow, 
My faithful Higliland Lassie, 0. 

For her I'll dare the billows' roar, 
For her I'll trace the distant shore. 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland Lassie, 0. 

She has my heart, she has my hand. 
By sacred truth and honour's band ! 
"Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low, 
I'm thine, my Highland Lassie, 0. 

Fareweel the glen sae bushy, ! 
Fareweel the plain sae rushy, 0! 
To other lands I now must go. 
To sing my Highland Lassie, ! 



MARY! 



Tune—" Blue Bonnets." 

This beautiful song was found amongst the 
poet's manuscripts after his death, inscribed, 
" A Prayer for Mary." Who Mary was the 
world knows. 

Powers celestial ! whose protection 

Ever guards the virtuous fair. 
While in distant climes I wander. 

Let my Mary be your care; 
Let her form sae fair and faultless. 

Fair and faultless as your own. 
Let my Mary's kindred spirit 

Draw your choicest influence down. 

Make the gales you waft around her 
Soft and peaceful as her breast; 



Breathing in the breeze that fans her. 
Soothe her bosom into rest. 

Guardian angels ! oh, protect her. 
When in distant lands I roam; [me, 

To realms unknown while fate exiles 
Make her bosom still my home ! 



WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES, MY 
MARY ? 

" In my very early years," says the poet, in a 
letter to Mr. Thomson in 1792, " when I was 
thinking of going to the West Indies, I took 
the following farewell of a dear girl [High- 
land Mary] : — 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
And leave auld Scotia's shore 1 

Will ye go to the Indies, my Mary, 
Across the Atlantic's roar ? 

Oh, sweet grow the lime and the 
orange. 

And the apple on the pine; 
But a' the charms o' the Indies 

Can never equal thine. 

I hae sworn by the Heavens to my Mary, 
I hae sworn by the Heavens to be 
true; 

And sae may the Heavens forget me 
When I forget my vow! 

Oh, plight meVour faith, my Mary, 
And plight me your lily-white hand; 

Oh, plight me your faith, my Mary, 
Before I leave Scotia's strand. 

We hae plighted our troth, my Mary, 
In mutual affection to join; [us! 

And curst be the cause that shall part 
The hour and the moment o' time! 



ELIZA. 



Tune — " Gilderoy. 

From thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar; 
But boundless oceans roaring wide 

Between my love and me. 
They never, never can divide 

My heart and soul from thee I 

Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear. 

The maid that I adore! 
A boding voice is in mine ear. 

We part to meet no more! 



SONGS. 



sot 



The latest throb that leaves my heart. 
While death stands victor by, 

That throb, Eliza, is thy part. 
And thine that latest sigh! 



A FAREWELL TO THE BEETH- 
REN OF ST. JAMES' LODGE, 
TORBOLTON. 

Tune — " Good night, and joy be wi' you a' ! " 

The poet is said to have chanted this " Fare- 
well" at a meeting of St. James' Mason 
Lodge at Torbolton, while his chest was on 
the way to Greenock, and he had just 
written the last song he thought he should 
ever compose in Scotland. The person 
alluded to in the last stanza was Major- 
General James Montgomery, who was 
Worshipful Master, while Burns was 
Depute-Master. 

Adieu ! a heart-vsrarm, fond adieu ! 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie ! 
Ye favour'd, ye enlighten'd few. 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Though I to foreign lands must hie, 

Pursuing Fortune's slidd'ry ba',' 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, though far awa'. 

Oft have I met your social band, 

And spent the cheerful, festive night; 
Oft, honour'd with supreme command, 

Presided o'er the sons of light : 
And, by that hieroglyphic bright, 

Which none but craftsmen ever saw ! 
Strong memory on my heart shall 
write 

Those happy scenes when far awa'. 

May freedom, harmony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath the Omniscient eye above. 

The glorious Architect Divine ! 
That you may keep the unerring line, 

Still rising by the plummet's law, 
Till order bright completely shine, 

Shall be my prayer when far awa'. 

And you, farewell! whose merits claim, 

Justly, that highest badge to wear ! 
Heaven bless your honour'd, noble 
name, 

To masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here. 

When yearly ye assemble a'. 
One round — I ask it with a tear — 

To him the Bard that's fai" awa'. 

' Slippery ball. 



THE SONS OF OLD KILLIE. 

Tune — " Shawnboy." 

Bums having been induced to participate in 
the festivities of the Kilmarnock Mason 
Lodge, which was presided over by his 
friend William Parker, produced the follow.. 
ing appropriate song for the occasion :— 

Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by 
Willie, 
To follow the noble vocation ; 
Your thrifty old mother has scarce 
such another 
To sit in that honoured station. 
I've little to say, but only to pray, 

As praying's the ton of your fashion: 
A prayer from the Muse you well may 
excuse, 
'Tis seldom her favourite passion. 

Ye powers who preside o'er the wind 
and the tide, 
"WTio marked each element's border; 
Who formed this frame with benefi- 
cent aim, 
Whose sovereign statute is order; 
Within this dear mansion may way- 
ward Contention 
Or withered Envy ne'er enter; 
May Secrecy round be the mystical 
bound. 
And Brotherly Love be the centre 1 



SONG, 

IN THE CHAKACTER OF A ETTINED 
FARMER. 

Tune — " Go from my window, love, do." 

The sun he is sunk in the west. 
All creatures retired to rest. 
While here I sit all sore beset 

With sorrow, grief, and wo; 
And it's 0, fickle Fortune, ! 

The prosperous man is asleep. 

Nor hears how the whix-l winds sweep; 

But Misery and I must watch 

The surly tempest blow : 
And it's 0, fickle Fortune, ! 

There lies the dear partner of ray breast, 
Her cares for a moment at rest: 
Must I see thee, my youthful pride. 

Thus brought so very low I 
And it's 0, fickle Fortune, O 1 



203 



BURNS' WORKS. 



There lie my sweet babies in her arms, 
No anxious fear tlieir little lieart 

alarms; 
But for their sake my heart doth ache, 
With many a bitter throe: 
And it's 0, fickle Fortune, ! 

I once was by Fortune carest, 
I once could relieve the distrest: 
Now, life's poor support hardly earn'd, 
My fate will scarce bestow: 
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O ! 

No comfort, no comfort I have ! 
How v/elccme to me were the grave ! 
But then my wife and children dear, 

whither would they go ? 
And it's O, fickle Fortune, O ! 

whither, O whither shall I turn ! 
All friendless, forsaken, forlorn ! 
For in this world Rest or Peace 

1 never more shall know I 
And it's 0, fickle Fortune, O ! 



THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 

Tune—" Miss Forkes' Farewell to Banff." 

The beautiful estate of Ballochmyle, which is 
situated on the Ayr, in the neighbourhood 
of Mauchline, was at this period of the po- 
et's life transferred from the family of the 
Whitefoords (whose departure he has 
lamented in the lines on " The Braes of 
Ballochmyle'") to Mr. Claud Alexander, a 
gentleman who had made a large fortune as 
paymaster-general of the East India Com- 
pany's troops at Bengal ; and having just 
taken up his residence at the mansion- 
house, his sister. Miss Wilhelmina Alexan- 
der, was one day walking out through the 
grounds, which appear to have been a fav- 
ourite haunt of Burns', when she accident- 
ally encountered him in a musing altitude, 
with his shoulder leaning against a tree. 
As the grounds were thought to be strictly 
private, the lady appears to have been 
somewhat startled ; but, having recovered 
herself, passed on,"and thought no more of 
the matter. A short time afterwards, how- 
ever, she was reminded of the circumstance 
by receiving a letter from the poet, enclos- 
ing the song. " I had roved out," he says, 
" as chance directed in the favourite haunts 
of my Mute, on the banks of the Ayr, to 
view nature in all the gayety of the vernal 
year. The evening sun was flaming over 
the distant ■ western hills ; not a breath 
stirred the crimson opening blossom, or the 
verdant spreading leaf. It was a golden 
moment for a poetic heart. Such was the 
scene, and such was the hour — when, in a 



corner of my prospect, I spied one of the 
fairest pieces of Nature's workmanship that 
ever crowned a poetic landscape or met a 
poet's eye. The enclosed song was the 
work of my return home ; and perhaps it 
but poorly answers what might have been 
expected from such a scene." Much to the 
mortification of Burns, however, the lady 
took no notice of either the letter or the 
song, although she ultimately displayed a 
high sense of the honour which the genius 
of the poet had conferred on her. She died 
unmarried in 1843, at the age of eighty- 
eight. 

'TwAS even — the dewy fields were 
green. 

On every blade the pearls hang. 
The zephyrs wanton'd round the bean. 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang: 
In every glen the mavis sang. 

All nature listening seem'd the while. 
Except where greenwood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

With careless step I onward stray' d. 

My heart rejoiced in Nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanced to spy; 
Her look was like the morning's eye. 

Her air like Nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper'd, passing by. 

Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle I 

Fair is the morn in flowery May, 

And sweet is night in autumn mild ; 
When roving through the garden gav. 

Or wandering in the lonely wild : 
But woman, Nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does com- 
pile; 
Even there her other works are foil'd 

By the boimy lass o' Ballochmyle. 

Oh ! had she been a country maid. 

And I the happy country swain. 
Though shelter'd in the lowest shed 

That ever rose on Scotland's plain: 
Through weary winter's wind and rain, 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil. 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonny lass o' Ballochmyle ! 

Then pride might climb the slippery 

steep, 

Wliere fame and honours lofty shine; 

And thirst of gold might tempt the 

deep. 

Or downward seek the Indian mine; 



SONGSy 



203 



Give me tlie cot below tlie pine 
To tend tlie flocks, or till tlie soil, 

And every day liave joys divine 

With the bonny lass o' Ballochmyle. 



THE BONNY BANKS OF AYR. 

Tune — " Roslin Castle." 

The gloomy niglit is gathering fast, 
Load roars the wild inconstant blast; 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain; 
The hunter now has left the moor. 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure; 
While here I wander, prest with care. 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 

The Autumn mourns her ripening corn, 
By early Winter's ravage torn; 
Across her placid, azure sky, 
She sees the scowling tempest fly: 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave — 
I think upon the stormy wave. 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonny banks of Ayr. 

'Tis not the surging billow's roar, 
'Tis not the fatal, deadly shore; 
Though death in every shape appear. 
The wretched have no more to fear ! 
But round my heart the ties are bound. 
That heart transpierced with many a 

wound; 
These bleed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the bonny banks of Ayr. 

Farewell old Coila's hills and dales. 
Her heathy moors and winding vales; 
The scenes where wretched fancy 

roves, 
Pursuing past unhappy loves ! [foes ! 
Farewell, my friends ! farewell my 
My peace with these, my love with 

those — 
The bursting tears my heart declare; 
Farewell the bonny banks of Ayr ! 



THE BANKS OF DOON. 

FIRST VERSION. 

The following^ song relates to an incident in 
real life — an unhappy love tale. The unfor- 
tunate heroine was a beautiful and accom- 

■ plished woman, the daughter and heiress of 



a gentleman of fortune in Carrick. Having 
been deserted bv her lover, the son of a 
wealthy Wigtonshire porprietor, to whom 
she had born a child without the sanction of 
the Church, she is said to have died of a 
broken heart. The poet composed a second 
version of this song in 1792, for the Scots 
Musical Museuiit: but it lacks the pathos 
and simplicity of the present one. 

Ye flowery banks o' bonny Doon, 
How can ye bloom sae fair; 

How can ye chant, ye little birds. 
And I sae fu' o' care ! 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonny 
bird 

That sings upon the bough; 
Thou minds me o' the happy days 

When my f ause love was true. 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou bonny 
bird 

That sings beside thy mate; 
For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 

And wist na o' my fate. 

Aft hae I roved by bonny Doon, 
To see the woodbine twine; 

And ilka bird sang o' its love, 
And sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Frae off its thorny tree; 
And my fause luver staw^ the rose» 

But left the thorn wi' me. 



THE AMERICAN WAR, 

A FRAGMENT. 

Tune — "Killiecrankie." 

When Guildford good our pilot stood. 

And did our helm thraw,i man, 
Ae night, at tea, began a plea. 

Within America, man: 
Then up they gat the maskin'-pat,^ 

And in the sea did jaw, 2* man; 
And did nae less, in full Congress, 

Than quite refuse our law, man. 

1 Stole. 
» Turn. * Teapot. ^ Throw. 
* The English Parliament having imposed 
an excise duty upon tea imported into North 
America, the East India Company sent several 
ships laden with that article to Boston ; but, 
on their arrival, the natives went on board by 
force of arms, and emptied all the lea into the 
sea. 



204 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Then through the lakes, Montgomeryf 
takes, 

I wat he wasna slaw, man ! 
Down Lowrie's burn :j: he took a turn, 

And Carleton did ca', man: 
But yet, what-reck, he, at Quebec, 

Montgomery-like § did fa', man: 
Wi' sword in hand, before his band, 

Amang his en'mies a', man. 

Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage. 

Was kept at Boston ha', man;|| 
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe 

For Philadelphia, man; 
Wi' sword and gun he thought a sin 

Guid Christian bluid to draw, man ; 
But at New York, wi' knife and fork. 

Sir- loin he hacked sma', man.^ 

Burgoyne gaed up, like spur and whip. 

Till Fraser brave did fa', man; 
Then lost his way, ae misty day, 

In Saratoga shaw,* man.** 
Cornwallis fought as long's he dought^ 

And did the buckskins claw, man: 
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save. 

He hung it to the wa', man. 

Then Montague, and Guildford too. 

Began to fear a fa', man; 
And Sackville doure,^ wha stood the 
stoure,' 

The German chief to thraw,^ man; 
For Paddy Burk, like ony Turk, 

Nae mercy had at a', man; 
And Charlie Fox threw by the box, 

And loosed his tinkler jaw.ff man. iff 



4 Would. Could. 6 Stubborn. ' Dust. 
8 Thwart. 

t General Montgomery invaded Canada in 
1775, and took Montreal, the British general, 
Sir Guy Carleton, retiring before him. 

J A pseudonym for the St. Lawrence. 

§ A compliment to the poet's patrons, the 
Montgomeries of Coilsfield. 

II An allusion to General Gage's being be- 
sieged in Boston by General Washington. 

f Alluding to an inroad made by Howe, 
when a large number of cattle was destroyed. 

** An allusion to the surrender of General 
Burgoyne's army at Saratoga. 

tt Free-spoken tongue. Tinkers are pro- 
verbial for their power of speech. 

Xt By the union of Lord North and Mr. 
Fox, m 1783, the heads of the celebrated coa- 
lition, Lord Shelburne was compelled 10 re- 
sign. 



Then Rockingham took up the game. 

Till death did on him ca', man; 
When Shelburne meek held up his 
cheek. 

Conform to gospel law, man; 
Saint Stephen's boys wi' jarring noise, 

They did his measures thraw, man, 
For North and Fox united stocks. 

And bore him to the wa', man. 

Then clubs and hearts were Charlie's 
cartes. 

He swept the stakes awa', man. 
Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race. 

Led him a saiv faux pas, man; § § 
The Saxon lads, wi' loud placards,^ 

On Chatham's boy did ca', man; 
And Scotland drew her pipe, and blew, 

" Up, Willie, waur'** them a', man!" 

Behind the throne then Grenville'3 
gone, 

A secret word or twa, man; 
While slee Dundas aroused the class 

Be-north the Roman wa', man: 
And Chatham's wraith,'' in heavenly 
gi'aith, 

(Inspired Bardies saw, man;) 
Wi' kindling eyes cried, "Willie, rise!' 

" Would I hae fear'd them a', man 'j* 

But, word and blow. North, Fox, and 
Co., 
GowfC'd'^ Willie like a ba', man. 
Till Suthrons raise, and coost'^ their 
claes 
Behind him in a raw, man; 
And Caledon threw by the drone, 

And did her whittle'* draw, man; 
And swoor f u' rude, through dirt and 
bluid. 
To make it guid in law, man. 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDT. 

Tune—" The Birks of Aberfeldy." 

The poet tells us he composed this song on a 
visit which he paid to the beautiful falls of 



9 Cheers. »" Beat. " Ghost. 

12 Knocked him about. The phrase properly 
refers to the game of golf. '^ Doffed. 
" Knife. 

|§ An allusion to Mr. Fox's India Bill, which 
threw him out of office in December, 1783. 



SONGS. 



205 



Moness, at Aberfeldy, in Perthshire, while 
on his way to Inverness. The air is old and 
sprightly. 

BoyrNT lassie, will ye go. 
Will ye go, will ye go; 
Bonny lassie, will ye go 
To the birks» of Aberfeldy? 

Kow simmer blinks'^ on flowery braes, 
And o'er the crystal streamlet plays; 
Come, let us spend tlie lightsome days 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing 
The little birdies blithely sing, 
Or lightly flit on wanton wing 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

The braes ascend, like lofty wa's. 
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
O' erhung wi' fragrant spreading 
shaws,^ 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flow- 
ers, 
Wliite o'er the linns the btirnie pours, 
And rising, weets wi' misty showers 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee. 
They ne'er shall draw a Avish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 



THE BONNY LASS OF ALBANY. 

Tune — " Mary's Dream." 

" The following song," says Chambers, " is 
printed from a manuscript book in Burns' 
hand-writing in the possession of Mr. B. 
Nightingale of London." The heroine was 
the natural daughter of Prince Charles Ed- 
ward, by Clementina Walkinshaw, with 
whom, it is well known, he lived for many 
years. The Prince afterwards caused her 
to be legitimated by a deed of the parlia- 
ment of Paris in 1787, and styled her the 
Duchess of Albany. 

My heart is wae, and unco wae,' 
To think upon the raging sea 
That roars between her gardens green 
And the bomy lass of Albany. 



1 Birches— Circhwood. 

^ Wootis. 

•Sad. 



^ Glances. 



This lovely maid's of royal blood 
That ruled Albion's kingdoms three. 
But oh, alas! for her bonny face. 
They've wrang d the Lass of Albany. 

In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde 
There sits an isle of high degree. 
And a town of fame whose princely 

name 
Should grace the Lass of Albany. 

But there's a youth, a witless youth. 
That fills the place where she should 

be; 
We'll send him o'er to his native shore. 
And bring our aiu sweet Albany, 

Alas the day, and wo the day, 
A false usurper won the gree* 
Who now commands the towers and 

lands — 
The royal right of Albany. 

We'll daily pray, we'll nightly pray. 
On bended knees most fervently, 
The time may come, with pipe and 

drum. 
We'll welcpme hame fair Albany. 



LADY ONLIE. 

Tune — "Ruffian's Rant." 

A' the lads p' Thorniebank, [Bucky,' 
When they gae to the shore o* 

They'll step in and tak a pint 
Wi' Lady Onlie, honest Lucky!* 

Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews gitid ale at shore o' Bucky; 

I wish her sale for her guid ale. 
The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 

Her house sae bien,^ her curch'' sae 
clean, 

I wat she is a dainty chucky;^ 
And cheerlie blinks the ingle-gleed* 

Of Lady Onlie, honest Lucky! 

Lady Onlie, honest Lucky, 

Brews guid ale at shore o' Bucky; 
I wish her sale for her guid ale, 

The best on a' the shore o' Bucky. 



^ Superiority. 

' Buckhaven. ' Goodv/ife. ' Well-filled. 
■• Kerchief— a covering for the head. ^ Dear. 
" Blazing fire. 



206 



BURNS' WORKS. 



BLITHE WAS SHE. 
Tone — " Andrew and his Cutty Gun." 
Blithe, blitlie, and merry was she, 
Blithe was she butt and ben:' 
Blithe by the banks of Earn, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 

By Auchtertyre grows the aik,^ 

On Yarrow banlcs the birken shaw;^ 

But Phemie was a bonnier lass 
Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw. 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a simmer morn; 

She tripped by the banks of Earn, 
As light's a bird upon a thorn. 

Her bonny face it was as meek 

As ony lamb upon a lea; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet. 

As was the blink o' Phemie's ee. 

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide. 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been; 

But Phemie was the blithest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 



BONNY DUNDEE. 

Tune — " Bonny Dundee." 

This song appeared in the first volume of the 
Museum. The second verse alone is Bums', 
the first having been taken from a very old 
homely ditty. 

Oh, whare did ye get that hauver' 
meal bannock ? [ see ? 

Oh, silly blind body, oh, dinna ye 
I gat it frae a brisk young sodger lad- 
die, [Dundee. 
Between Saint Johnston and bonny 
Oh gin I saw the laddie that gae me't ! 
Aft has he doudled'-^ me upon his 
knee; [laddie. 
May Heaven protect my bonny Scots 
And send him safe hame to his baby 
and me! 

My blessin's upon thy sweet wee lippie, 
My blessin's upon thy bonny eebree ! 

Thy smiles are sae like my blithe 

sodger laddie, [me! 

Thou's aye be dearer and dearer to 

• In kitchen and pyarlour. * Oak. ^ Birch- 
woods. 

» Oat. « Dandled. 



But I'll big a bower on yon bonny 

banks, [clear; 

Where Tay rins wimplin' by sae 

And I'll dead thee in the tartan sae 

fine, [dear. 

And mak the a man like thy daddie 



THE JOYFUL WIDOWER. 

Tune—" Maggy Lauder." 

I MARRitD with a scolding vdfe. 

The fourteenth of November; 
She made me wearj^ of my life 

By one unruly member. 
Long did I bear the heavy yoke. 

And many griefs attended; 
But, to my comfort be it spoke. 

Now, now her life is ended. 

We lived full one-and-twenty years 

As man and wife together; 
At length from me her course 
steer'd, 

And's gone I know not whither: 
Would I could guess, I do profess, 

I speak, and do not flatter. 
Of all the women in the Avorld, 

I never could come at her. 

Her body is bestowed well, 

A handsome grave does hide her; 
But sure her soul is not in hell, 

The deil could ne'er abide her. 
I rather think she is aloft. 

And imitating thunder; 
For why, methinks I hear her voice 

Tearing the clouds asunder. 



she 



A ROSEBUD BY MY EARLY 
WALK. 

Tune — " The Rosebud." 

This song was composed in honour of the 
young lady to whom the poet addressed the 
Imes beginning, " Beauteous rosebud, 
young and gay." She was Miss Jenny 
Cruikshank, daughter of Mr. William 
Cruikshank, one of the masters of the High 
School of Edinburgh. 

A ROSEBTJD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,' 
Sae gently bent its thcray stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 



• An open space in a cornfield. 



SONGS. 



207 



Ere twice tlie sliades o' dawn are lied, 
In a' its crimson glory spread 
And drooping riclx tlie dewy liead, 
It scents tlie early morning. 

Witliin the busli, lier covert nest 
A little linnet fondly prest, 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 

Sae early in the morning, 
eiie soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedev>^'d. 

Awake the early morning. 

So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair ! 
On trembling string, or vocal air, 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 

That tends thy early morning. 
So thou, sweet rosebud, young and gay, 
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day. 
And bless the parent's evening ray 

That watch'd thy early morning. 



BRAVma ANGRY WINTER'S 
STORMS. 

Tune—" Neil Gow's Lamentation for Aber- 
cairny." 

The two following- sonffs were written in 
praise of Miss Margaret Ciialmers, a relative 
of tlae poet's friend, Mr. Gavin Hamilton. 

WnERE, braving angry Winter's 
storms. 

The lofty Ochils rise. 
Far in their shade my Peggy's charms 

First blest my wondering eyes; 
As one who by some savage stream, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Astonish'd, doubly marks its beam. 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild sequester'd shade. 

And blest the day and hour, 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd. 

When fii-st I felt their power! 
The tyrant Death, with grim control, 

May seize my fleeting breath; 
Bat tearing Peggy from my soul 

Must be a stronger death. 



My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind. 
Might charm the first of humankind. 
I love my Peggy's angel air. 
Her face so truly, heavenly fair, 
Her native grace so void of art. 
But I adore my Peggy's heart. 

The lily's hue, the rose's dye. 
The kindling lustre of an eye; 
Who but owns their magic sway I 
Who btit knows they all decay I 
The tender thrill, the pitying tear. 
The generous purpose, nobly dear. 
The gentle look, that rage disarms— 
These are all immortal charms. 



MY PEGGY'S FACE. 

Tune — " My Peggy's Face." 

SIy Peggy's face, my Peggy's form 
The frost of hermit age might warm ; 



THE BANKS OF THE DEVON. 

Tune — " Bhanarach dhonn a chruidh." 

" These verses," saj's Burns, in his notes in 
the Mitsical Musexim^ " were composed on 
a charming girl. Miss Charlotte Hamiltoi, 
who is now married to James M. Adair, 
physician. She is sister to my worthy friend 
Gavin Hamilton of Mauchline, and was 
born on the banks of the Ayr ; but was, at 
the time I wrote these lines, residing at 
Harvieston, in Clackmannanshire, on the 
romantic banks of the little river Devon. ' 
The poet, it has been said, wished to be 
something more than a mere admirer cf 
this young lady ; but 

" Meg was -eaf as Ailsa Craig ;" 

for the music of his lyre appears to have 
fallen on ears that would not charm. 

How pleasant the banks of the clear- 

Avinding Devon, 

With green-spreading bushes, and 

flowers blooming fair! 

But the bonniest flower on the banks of 

the Devon [of the Ayr. 

Was once a sweet bud on the braes 

Mild be the sun on this sweet-blushing 

flower, [in the dew ! 

In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes 

And gentle the fall of the soft vernal 

shower, [to renew. 

That steals on the evening each leaf 

Oh, spare the dear blossom, ye orient 

breezes, [the dawn! 

With chill hoary wing, as ye usher 

And far be thou distant, thou reptile, 

that seizes [and lawn ! 

The verdure and pride of the garden 



208 




Let Bourbon exult in liis gay gilded 

lilies, [lier proud rose ! 

And England, triumphant, display 

A fairer than either adorns the green 

valleys [dering flows. 

Where Devon, sweet Devon, mean- 



MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL. 

Tune — " M'Pherson's Rant.' 

This fine song, which Lockhart terms " a 
grand lyric, and Carlyle " a wild, stormful 
song, that dwells in ear and mind with 
strange tenacity," was designed by the poet 
as an improvement of a well-known old 
ditty entitled, " Macpherson's Lament," 
and which is said to have .been written by a 
Highland freebooter a night or two before 
his execution. As this hero's history con- 
tains some elements of interest, we borrow 
the following account of him from Mr. Rob- 
ert Chambers' recent edition of the poet's 
works : — " James JMacpherson was a noted 
Highland freebooter of uncommon per- 
sonal strength, and an excellent performer 
on the violin. After holding the counties of 
Aberdeen, Banff, and Moray in fear for 
some years, he was seized by Duff of Braco, 
ancestor of the Earl of Fife, and tried before 
the sheriff of Banffshire, (November 7, 1700) 
along with certain gipsies who had been 
taken in his company. In the prison, while 
he lay under sentence of death, he com- 
posed a song and an appropriate air, the 
former commencing thus . — 

' I've spent my time in rioting, 

Debauch'd my health and strength ; 
I squander'd fast as pillage came, 
And fell to shame at length. 
But dantonly, and wantonly. 

And rantingly I'll gae ; 
I'll play a tune, and dance it roun' 
Beneath the gallows-tree.' 

When brought to the place of execution, on 
the Gallows-hill of Banff, (Nov. 16) he 
played the tune on his violin, and then 
asked if any friend was present who would 
accept the instrument as a gift at his hands. 
No one coming forward, he indignantly 
broke the violin on his knee, and threw 
avi'ay the fragments ; after which he sub- 
mitted to his fate. The traditionary accounts 
of Macpherson's immense prowess are justi- 
fied by his sword, which is still preserved 
in Duff House, at Banff, and is an imple- 
ment of great length and weight — as well 
as his bones, which were found a few years 
ago, and were allowed by all who saw them 
to be much stronger than the bones of or- 
dinary men." 

Farewell, ye dungeons dark and 
strong. 

The wretch's destinie! 
Macpherson's time will not be long 

On yonder gallows-tree. 



Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, 
Sae dauntingly gaed he; 

He play'd a spring, and danced it 
round, 
Below the gallows-tree. 

Oh ! what is death but parting breath?— 

On mony a bloody plain 
I've dared his face, and in this place 

I scorn him yet again! 

Untie these bands from off my hands, 
And bring to me my sword ! 

And there's no a man in ail Scotland 
But I'll brave him at a word. 

I've lived a life of sturt and strife; 

I die by treacherie. 
It burns my heart I must depart 

And not avenged be. 

Now farewell light — thou sunshine 
bright. 

And all beneath the sky ! 
May coward shame distain his name, 

The wretch that dares not die ! 



WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME TO 
YOU, MY LAD. 

This version of an old fragment ihe poet 
composed for the second volume of the 
Mtiseum ; but he afterwards altered and 
extended it for Thomson's collection. 

On, whistle, and I'll come to you, my 
lad; [lad- 

Oh, whistle, and I'll come to you, my 

Though father and mother should baith 
gae mad, [lad. 

Oh, whistle, and I'll come 10 you, tny 

Come down the back stairs when ye 

come to court me; 
Come down the back stairs when ye 

come to court me; [naebody see, 

Come down the back stairs and let 
And come as ye werena coming to me. 



STAY, MY CHARMER. 

Tune — " An Gille dubh ciar dhubli.' 

Stat, my charmer, can you leave me ? 

Cruel, cruel to deceive me? [me; 

Well you know how much you grieve 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 

Cruel charmer, can you go ? 



SONGS. 



209 



By my love so ill requited; 

By the faith you fondly plighted; 

By the pangs of lovers slighted, 
Do not, do not leave me so 1 
Do not, do not leave me so I 



STRATHALLAN'S LAMENT. 

William, fourth Viscount of Strathallan, whom 
the poet celebrates in these hnes, fell on the 
rebel side at Culloden in 1746. The poet, 
perhaps ignorant of this fact, speaks 01 him 
as havmg survived the battle, and fied for 
safety to some mountain fastness. 

Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling! 

Howling tempests, o'er me rave ! 
Turbid torrents, wintry swelling. 

Still surround my lonely cave ! 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 
Busy haunts of base mankind. 

Western breezes softly blowing. 
Suit not my distracted mind. 

IjI the cause of right engaged, 
Wrongs injurious to redress, 

"honour's war we strongly waged, 
But the heavens denied success. 

Farewell, fleeting, fickle treasure, 
'Tween Misfortune and Folly shared ! 

Farewell Peace, and farewell Pleasure ! 
Farewell flattering man's regard ! 

Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, 
Not a hope tiiat dare attend. 

The wide world is all before us— 
But a world without a friend I 



THE YOUNG HIGHLAND ROVER. 

Tune — " Morag." 

LOXJD blaw the frosty breezes. 

The snaw the mountains cover; 
Like winter on me seizes, 

Since my young Highland rover 

Far wanders nations over. 
Where'er he go, where'er he stray, 

May Heaven be his warden ; 
Return him safe to fair Strathspey 

And bonny Castle-Gordon ! 

The trees now naked groaning, 
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging. 

The birdies dowie' moaning. 
Shall a' be blithely singing, 

1 Sadly. 



And every flower be springing. 
Sae I'll rejoice the lee-lang day. 

When by his mighty warden 
My youth's return 'd to fair Strathspey, 

And bonny Castle-Gordon. 



RAVING WINDS AROUND HER 
BLOWING. 

Tune — " Macgregor of Ruara's Lament." 

" I composed these verses " says Bums, " on 
Miss Isabella M'Leod of Raasay, alluding to 
her feelings on the death of her sister, and 
the still more melancholy death of her 
sister's husband, the late Earl of Loudon, 
who shot himself out of sheer heartbreak at 
some mortification he suffered from the 
deranged state of his finances." 

Raving winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing. 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray 'd deploring: — 
' ' Farewell hours that late did measure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; 
Hail thou gloomy night of sorrow. 
Cheerless night that knows no morrow! 

" O'er the past too fondly wandering. 
On the hopeless future pondering; 
Chilly Grief my life-blood freezes. 
Fell Despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, thou soul of every blessing. 
Load to Misery most distressing, 
Oh, how gladly I'd resign thee. 
And to dark oblivion join thee ! " 



MUSING ON THE ROARING 
OCEAN. 

Tuke — " Druimion Dubh." 

" I composed these verses," says the poet, 
" out of compliment to a Mrs. Maclachlan, 
whose husband was an officer in the East 
Indies." 

Musing on the roaring ocean. 
Which divides my love and me; 

Wearying Heaven in warm devotion, 
For his weal where'er he be. 

Hope and Fear's alternate billow 
Yielding late to Nature's law; 

Whispering spirits round my pillow 
Talk of him that's far awa'. 

Ye whom sorrow never wounded. 

Ye who never shed a tear. 
Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded. 

Gaudy Day to you is dear. 



210 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Gentle Night, do tliou befriend me; 

Downy Sleep, the curtain draw; 
Spirits kind, again attend me, — 

Talk of him that's far awa' 1 



BONNY PEGGY ALISON. 

Tune — " Braes o" Balquhidder." 

I'll kiss thee yet, yet. 

And I'll kiss thee o'er again; 

And I'll kiss the yet, yet, 
My bonny Peggy Alison ! 

Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, 

I ever mair defy them, 0; 
Young kings upon their hanseP throne 

Are nae sae blest as I am, ! 

"WTien in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, 
I clasp my countless treasure 0, 

I seek nae mair o' Heaven to share. 
Than sic a moment's pleasure, O ! 

And by thy een, sae bonny blue, 
I swear I'm thine for ever, ! — 

And on thy lips I seal my vow. 
And break it shall I never, O 1 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 

Tune — " Captain O'Kean." 

" Yesterday,'' wrote Burns to his friend Cle^- 
horn,"as I was riding through a tract of 
melancholy, joyless moors, between Gallo- 
way and Ayrshire, it being Sunday, I 
turned my thoughts to psalms, and hymns 
and spiritual songs ; and your favourite air, 
' Captain O'Kean,' coming at length into my 
head, I tried these words to it. I am toler- 
ably pleased with the verses ; but as I have 
only a sketch of the tune, I leave it with you 
to try if they suit the measure of the music." 
Cleghorn answered that the words 
delighted him, and fitted the tune exactly. 
" I wish," added he, " that you would send 
me a verse or two more ; and, if you have 
no objection, I would have it in the Jacobite 
style. Suppose it should be sung after the 
fatal field of Culloden, by the unfortunate 
Charles." The poet took his friend's advice, 
and infused a Jacobite spirit into the first 
verse as well as the second. 

The small birds rejoice in the green 
leaves returning, 
The murmuring streamlet winds 
through the vale; 



^ New-won. 



The hawthorn trees blow, in the dew 
of the morning. 
And wild scatter'd cowslips bedeck 
the green dale; 
But what can give pleasure, or what 
can seem fair. 
While the lingering moments are 
number'd by care ? 
No flowers gayly fringing, nor birds 
sweetly singing, [despair. 

Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless 

The deed that I dared, could it merit 
their malice, [his throne ? 

A king, and a father, to place on 
His right are these hills, and his right 
are these valleys. 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, 
but I can find none : 
But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretch- 
ed, — forlorn. 
My brave gallant friends I 'tis your 

ruin 1 mourn; 
Your deeds proved so loyal in hot 
bloody trial — 
Alas! can I make you no sweeter return? 



OF A' THE AIRTS THE WlND CAN 
BLAW. 

Tune—" Miss Admiral Gordon's Strathspey. 

" I composed this song," says the poet, "out 
of compliment to Mrs. Burns, during our 
honeymoon.'' 

Of a' the airts the wind can bla'w, 

I dearly like the west. 
For there the bonny lassie lives. 

The lassie I lo'e best: [row,' 

There ■wild woods grow, and rivera 

And mony a hill between ; 
But day and night, my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair : 
I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 

I hear her charm the air : 
There's not a bonny flower that springs 

By fountain, shaw,^ or green, 
There's not a bonny bird that sings. 

But minds me o' my Jean.'* 



1 Roll. 2 Wood. 

* The two following stanzas were written 
some years afterwards, by Mr. John Hamilton, 
music-seller, Edinburgh, and from their sun- 



l^OTTCrS. 



211 



OH, WERE I ON PARNASSUS' 
HILL. 

Tune — " My love is lost to me." 

This song was also produced in honour of 
Mrs. Burns, shortly before she took up her 
residence at ElUsland as the poet's wife. It 
is thought to have been composed while he 
was one day gazing- towards the hill of 
Corsincon, at the head of Nithsdale, and 
beyond which, though at some distance, 
was the quiet vale where lived his " bonny 
Jean." 

Oh, were I on Parnassus' Mil 1 
Or had of Helicon my fill; 
That I might catch poetic skill 

To smg how dear I love thee. 
But Nith maun be my Muse's well, 
My Muse maun be thy bonny sel ; 
On Corsincon I glower^ and spell. 

And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my lay! 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day 
I couldna sing, I couldna say. 

How much, how dear, I love thee. 
I see thee dancing o'er the green. 
Thy waist see jimp,^ thy limbs sae 

clean,* 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een — 

By heaven and earth I love thee 1 

By night, by day, a-field, at hame. 
The thoughts o' thee mj- breast inflame; 
And aye I muse and sing thy name — 

I only live to love thee. 
Though I were doom'd to wander on 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun. 
Till my last weary sand was run; 

Till then — and then I'd love thee. 



1 Stare. 



2 Small. 



' Well-Shaped. 



plicity and beauty are really worthy of form- 
ing the corollary to this fine song : — 

" Oh, blaw, ye westlin' winds, blaw saft 

Amang the leafy trees, 
Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale, 

Bring hame the laden bees ; 
And bring the lassie back to me 

That's aye sae neat and clean ; 
Ae smile o' her wad banish care, 

Sae charming is my Jean. 

'"What sighs and vows amang the knowes 

Hae pass'd atween us twa : 
How fond to meet, how wae to part, 

That night she gaed awa' ! 
The powers aboon can only ken, 

To whom the heart is seen. 
That nane can be sae dear to me 

As my sweet lovely Jean ! " 
The two following were al'^o written as an 
addition to this song by Mr. William Rcid, of 



THE FETE CHAMPETRE. 

Tune — " Killiecrankie." 

The poet's brother, Gilbert Burns, gives the 
following account of the origin of this 
ballad : — " When Mr. Cunninghame of 
Enterkin came to his estate, two mansion- 
houses on it, Enterkin and Annbank, were 
both in a ruinous state. Wishing to intro- 
duce himself with some eclat to the county, 
he got temporary erections made on the 
banks of the Ayr, tastefully decorated with 
shrubs and flowers, for a supper and ball, to 
which most of the respectable families in the 
county were invited. It viras a novelty in the 
county, and attracted much notice. A dis- 
solution of parliament was soon expected, 
and this festivity was thought to be an 
introduction to a canvass for representing 
the county. Several other candidates were 
spoken of, particularly Sir John Whitefoord, 
then residing at Cloncaird, commonly pro- 
nounced Glencaird, and Mr. Boswell, the 
well-known biographer of Dr. Johnson. 
The political views of this festive assem- 
blage, which are alluded to in the ballad, if 
they ever existed, were, however, laid aside 
as Mr. Cunninghame did not canvass the 
county." 

Oh, wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

To do our errands there, man? 
Oh, wha will to Saint Stephen's house, 

O' th' merry lads of Ayr, man ? 
Or will we send a man-o'-law ? 

Or will we send a sodger ? 
Or liim wha led o'er Scotland a' 

The meikle^ Ursa-Major ? 

Come, will ye court a noble lord. 
Or Ijuy a score o' lairds, man ? 

For worth and honour pawn their word. 
Their vote shall be Glencaird's man 1 



1 Great. 

the firm of Brash & Reid, booksellers, Glasgow, 
and have sometimes been printed as the 
poet's : — 

" Upon the banks o' flowing Clyde 

The lassies buski them braw . 
But when their best they hae put on, 

My Jennie dings- them a' : 
In hamely weeds she far e.xceeds 

The fairest o' the town ! 
Baith sage and gay confess it sae. 

Though drest in russet gown. 

" The gamesome lamb, that sucks its dam, 

Mair harmless canna be ; 
She has nae faut, (if sic ye ca't,) 

Except her love for me : 
The sparkling dew, o' clearest hue. 

Is like her shining een : 
In shape and air nane can compare 

Wr my sweet lovely Jean." 



1 Dress. 



a Excels. 



212 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Ane gies tliem coin, ane gies tliem wine, 
Anither gies tliem clatter -^ 

Annbank, wha guess'd the ladies' taste. 
He gives a Fete ChampStre. 

Wlien Love and Beauty heard the news, 

The gay greenwoods amang, man; 
Where gathering flowers and busking^ 
bowers, [man; 

They heard the blackbird's sang, 
A vow, they seal'd it with a kiss. 

Sir Politics to fetter. 
As theirs alone, the patent-bliss, 

To hold a Fete Champetre. 

Then mounted Mirth, on gleesome wing, 

O'er hill and dale she flew, man; 
Ilk wimpling burn, ilk crystal spring. 

Ilk glen and shaw^she knew, man; 
She summon'd every social sprite. 

That sports by wood or water. 
On the bonny banks of Ays to meet, 

And keep this Fete Champetre. 

Cauld Boreas, wi' his boisterous crew, 

Were bound to stakes like kye,' man, 
And Cynthia's car, o' silver fu'. 

Clamb up the starry sky, man; 
Reflected beams dwell in the streams, 

Or down the current shatter; 
The western breeze steals through the 
trees 

To view this Fete Champetre. 

How many a robesae gayly floats! 

What sparkling jewels glance, man! 
To Harmony's enchanting tiotes. 

As moves the mazy dance, man. 
The echoing wood, the winding flood, 

Like paradise did glitter. 
When angels met, at Adam's yett,^ 

To hold their Fete Champetre. 

When Politics came there, to mix 
And make his ether-stane, man! 

He circled round the magic ground. 
But entrance found he nane, man:* 



2 Talk. 
6 Gate. 



3 Dressing-. •* Wood. * Cattle. 



* " Alluding- to a superstition," says Cham- 
bers, " which represents adders as forminfr 
annually- from their slough certain little an- 
nular stones of streaked colouring-, which 
are occasionally found, and the real origin 
of which is supposed by antiquaries to be 
Druidical." 



He blush'd for shame, he quat his 
name. 

Foreswore it, every letter, 
Wi' humble prayer to join and share 

This festive Fete Champetre. 



THE DAY RETURNS. : 

i 

Tune — " Seventh of November." 

In a letter to Miss Chalmers, an intimate fe- 
male friend of the poet's, he says regarding 
this song : — " One of the most tolerable 
things I have done for some time is these 
two stanzas I made to an air a musical gen- 
tleman of my acquaintance [Captain Riddel 
of Glenriddel] composed for the anniver- 
sary of his wedding day." 

The day returns, my bosom burns. 

The blissful day we twa did meet. 
Though Winter wild in tempest toil'd. 

Ne'er Summer sun was half sae 
sweet. 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide. 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and 
globes, [mine ! 

Heaven gave me more — it made thee 

While day and night can bring delight. 

Or nature aught of pleasure give. 
While joys above my mind can move. 

For thee, and thee alone, I live ! 
When that grim foe of life below 

Comes in between to make us part. 
The iron hand that breaks our band 

It breaks my bliss — ^it breaks my 
heart. 



THE DISCREET HINT. 

" Lass when your mither is frae hame, 

May I but be sae bauld 
As come to your bower window. 

And creep in frae the cauld ? 
As come to your bower window. 

And when it 's cauld aud wat. 
Warm me in thy fair bosom — 

Sweet lass, may I do that 1 " 

"Young man, gin ye should be sae 
kind, 

'\^^len our gudewife's frae hame, 
As come to my bower window, 

Whare I am laid my lane. 



SONGS. 



213 



To warm thee in my bosom — 
Take tent,' I'll tell thee what, 

The way to me lies through the kirk — 
Young man, do ye hear that 'I " 



THE LAZY MIST. 
Tune—'" Here's a health to my true love." 

The lazy mist hangs from the brow 

of the hill, [winding rill ! 

Concealing the course of the dark- 
How languid the scenes, late so 

sprightly, appear, [year. 

As Autumn to Winter resigns the pale 
The forests are leafless, the meadows 

are brown, [flown : 

And all the gay foppery of Summer is 
Apart let me wander, apart let me 

muse, [Fate pursues ! 

How quick Time is flying, how keen 

How long I have lived — ^but how much 
lived in vain, [remain ! 

How little of life's scanty span may 

What aspects old Time, in his pro- 
gress, has worn, [torn ! 

"Wliat ties, cruel Fate in m.y bosom has 

How foolish, or worse, till our summit 
is gain'd ! 

And downward, how weaken'd, how 
darken'd, how pain'd ! 

This life's not worth having with all 
it can give — [sure must live. 

For something beyond it poor man 



I HAE A WIFE 0' MY AIN. 

Tune — " Naebody." 

The following sprightly lines were written 
shortly after the poet had welcomed home 
his wife to his new house on the farm of 
Ellisland — the first winter he spent in which 
he has described as the happiest of his life. 

I HAE a wife o' my ain — 

I'll partake ^vi' naebody 
I'll tak cuckold frae nane, 

I'll gie cuckold to naebody. 
I hae a penny to spend. 

There — thanks to naebody ; 
I hae naething to lend — 

I'll borrow frae naebody. 



» Heed. 



I am naebody's lord — 

I'll be slave to naebody : 
I hae a guid braid sword, 

.I'll tak dunts ' frae naebody ; 
I'll be merry and free, 

I'll be sad for naebody ; 
If naebody care for me, 

I'll care for naebody. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

Bums has described this as an old song and 
tune which had often thrilled through his 
soul: and in communicating it to his friend, 
George Thomson, he professed to have re- 
covered it from an old man's singing : and 
exclaimed regarding it : — " Light be the 
turf on the breast of the Heaven- inspired 
poet who composed this glorious frag- 
ment !" The probability is, however, that 
the poet was indulging in a little mystifica- 
tion on the subject, and that the entire song 
was his own composition. The second and 
third verses — describing the happy days of 
youth— are his beyond a doubt. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to min' ? 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days o' lang syne ? 

For auld lang sjme, my dear. 

For auld lang syne. 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet 

For auld lang syne ! 

We twa hae run about the braes. 
And pu'd the gowans fine ; 

But we've wander'd mony a weary foot 
Sin' auld lang syne. 

We twa hae paidl't i' the bum, 
Frae morning sun till dine : 

But seas between us braid hae roar'd 
Sin' auld lang syne 

And here's a hand my trusty fiere,' 

And gies a hand o' thine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willie- 
waught,'-* 

For auld lang syne ! 

And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup. 

And surely I'll be mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

1 Blows. 
' Friend. ' Draught. 



214 



BURNS' WORKS. 



MY BONNY MARY. 

Tune — " Go fetch to me a pint o* wine." 

The first four lines of this song are from an 
old ballad composed in 1636, by Alexander 
Lesly of Edin, on Doveran side, g^rand- 
father to the celebrated Archbishop Sharpe 
— the rest are Burns'. 

Go fetch to me a pint o' wine. 

And fill it in a silver tassie,' 
That I may drink, before I go, 

A service to my bonny lassie; 
The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith; 

Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the 
ferry ; 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 

And 1 maun leave my bonny Mary. 

The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 

The glittering spears are ranked 
ready; 
The shouts o' war are heard afar. 

The battle closes thick and bloody, 
But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 

Wad make me langer wish to tarry; 
Nor shout o' war that's heard afar — 

It's leaving thee, my bonny Mary. 



MY HEART WAS ANCE AS 
BLITHE AND FREE. 

Tune — " To the weaver's gin ye go." 

The chorus of this song is taken from a very 
old ditty— the rest is the production of the 
poet. 

My heart was ance as blithe and free 
As simmer days were lang. 

But a bonny westlin' weaver lad 
Has gart me change my sang. 

To the weavers gin ye go, fair 
maids. 
To the weavers gin ye go; 
I rede' yon right, gang ne'er at 
night. 
To the weavers gin ye go. 

My mither sent me to the to'mi, 

To warp^ a plaiden wab; 
But the weary, weary warpin' o't 

Has gart^ nae sigh and sab. 

A bonnj; westlin' weaver lad 
Sat working at his loom ; 



• Cup. 
^ I'l'arn. ^ Prepare for the loom. ^ Made. 



He took my heart as wi' a net. 
In every knot and thrum.* 

I sat beside my warpin' -wheel. 

And aye I ca'd it roun'; 
But every shot and every knock. 

My heart it gae a stoun.^ 

The moon was sinking in the west 

Wi' visage pale and wan. 
As my bonny westlin' weaver lad 

Convey'd me through the glen. 

But what was said, or what was done, 

Shame fa' me gin I tell; 
But, oh ! I fear the kintra^ soon. 

Will ken as weel's mysel. 



BRAW LADS OF GALA WATER. 

Tune — " Gala Water." 

The air and chorus of this song are both very 
old. This version Burns wrote for the 
Scois Musical Museum ; but he was so en- 
amoured with the air, that he afterwards 
wrote another set of words to it for his 
friend Thomson, which will be found at p. 
250. 

Bkaw, braw lads of Gala Water; 

Oh, braw lads of Gala Water: 
I'll kilt' my coats aboon my knee. 

And follow my love through 
the water. 

Sae fair her hair, sae brenf^ her brow, 
Sae bonny blue her een, my dearie ; 

Sae white her teeth, sae sweet her 
mou', 
The mair I kiss she's aye my dearie. 

O'er yon bank and o'er yon brae, 
O'er yon moss amang the heather; 

I'll kilt my coats aboon my knee, 
And follow my love through the 
water. 

Down amang the broom, the broom, 
Down amang the broom, my dearie. 

The jassie lost her silken snood,* 
That cost her mony a blirt and 
bleary.* 



< Thread. s Start. « Country. 

1 Tuck up and fix. ^ High and smooth. 
3 Sigh and tear. 

* The snood or ribband with which a Scot- 
tish lass braided her liair had an emblematical 
signification, and applied to her maiden char- 
acter. It v/as exchanged for the ctirch, toy, or 
coi/^ when she passed by marriage into the 



SONGS. 



215 



HER I>ADDIE FORBAD. 

Tune — " Jumpin' John." 
Her daddie forbad, her minnie forbad; 

Forbidden she wouldna be: [brew'd^. 
She wadna trov/'t the browst she 

Wad taste sae bitterlie 

The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonny lassie, 
The lang lad they ca' Jumpin' John 

Beguiled the bonny lassie. 

A cow and a calf, a ewe and a hauf , 
And thretty guid shillin's and three; 

A very guid tocher, ^ a cotter-man's 
dochter. 
The lass with the bonny black ee. 



HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER. 

Tune—" The Dusty Miller." 

Hey the dusty miller. 

And his dusty coat; 
He will win a shilling 

Or he spend a groat. 

Dusty was the coat. 
Dusty Avas the colour, 

Dusty was the kiss 
I got f rae the miller. 

Hey, the dusty miller ; 
And his dusty sack; 
Leeze me on the calling 
Fills the dusty peck. 

Fills the dusty peck, 

Brings the dusty siller; 
I wad gie my coatie 
For the dusty miller. 



THENIEL MENZIE'S BONNY 
MARY. 

Tune— "The Ruffian's Rant." 

In coming by the brig o' Dye, 
At Darlet we a blink did tarry; 

As day was dawin in the sky. 

We drank a health to bonny Mary. 

1 She wouldn't believe the drink she brew'd. 
^ Dower. 

matron state. But if the damsel was so unfor- 
tunate as to loose pretensions to the name of 
maiden without graining a right to that of 
matron, she was neither permitted to use the 
snood nor advance to the graver dignity of 
the curch.— Scott. 



Theniel Menzie's bonny Mary, 
Theniel Menzie's bonny Mary, 

Charlie Gregor tint' his pladie, 
Kissin' Theniel's bonny Mary. 

Her een sae bright, her brow sae white, 
Her haffet^ locks as brown's a berry* 

And aye they dimpl't wi' a smile. 
The rosy cheeks o' bonny Mary. 

We lap and danced the lee-lang day. 

Till piper lads were wae and weary; 
But Charlie gat the spring to pay, 
- For kissin' Theniel's bonny Mary. 



WEARY FA' YOU, DUNCAN 
GRAY. 

Tune — " Duncan Gray." 

This first version of an old song was written 
for the Museum. The poet afterwards com- 
posed another and better version for the 
collection of his friend Thomson, which will 
be found at p. 243. 

Weary fa' you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha, the girdin'' o't ! 
Wae gae by you, Duncan Gray — 

Ha, ha; the girdin' o't I 
When a' the lave- gae to their play. 
Then I maun sit the lee-lang day. 
And jog the cradle wi' my tae. 

And £0' for the girdin' o't. 

Bonny was the Lammas moon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ! 
Glowerin' a' the hills aboon — 

Ha, ha, the girdin o't ! 
The girdin' brak, the beast cam down, 
I tint^ my curch* and baith my shoon — • 
Ah ! Duncan, ye're an unco loon — 

Wae on the bad girdin' o't ! 

But, Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith, 

Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ! [breath — ■ 

I'se bless you wi' my hindmost 

Ha, ha, the girdin' o't ! 
Duncan, gin ye'll keep your aith — 
The beast again can bear us baith, 
And auld Mess John will mend the 
skaitli,* 
And clout^ the bad girdin' o't. 



1 Lost, s Temple. 

1 Binding. 2 Others. 3 Lost. * Cap. » Harm, 
* Patch up. 



216 



BURNS' WORKS. 



THE PLOUGHMAN. 

Tune— "Up with the ploughman." 

The fourth and fifth verses only of this piece 
are by Burns, the remainder by some older 
writer. 

The ploughman te's a bonny lad, 

His mind is ever true, jo; 
His garters knit below his knee, 

His bonnet it is blue, jo. 

Then up wi' my ploughman lad, 
And hey my merry ploughman ! 

Of a' the trades that I do ken. 
Commend me to the ploughman ! 

My ploughman he comes hame at e'en, 

He's aften wat and weary; 
Cast &S. the wat, put on the dry. 

And gae to bed, my dearie I 

I will wash my ploughman's hose. 
And I will dress his o'erlay;i 

I will mak my ploughman's bed, 
And cheer him late and early. 

I hae been east, I hae been west, 
I hae been at Saint Johnston; 

The bonniest sight that e'er I saw- 
Was the ploughman laddie dancin'. 

Snaw- white stockin's on his legs. 
And siller buckles glancin' ; 

A guid blue bonnet on his head — 
And oh, but he was handsome ! 

Commend me to the barnyard. 

And the corn-mou,* man; 
I never gat my coggie fou, 

Till I met wi' the ploughman. 



LANDLADY, COUNT THE LA WIN. 

Tune— "Hey Tutti, Taiti." 

The first two verses of this song were sup- 
plied by Burns; the others belong to apolit- 
ical ditty of earlier date. 

LAlTOliADY, count the lawin 
The day is near the da\vin, 



1 Cravat. 

' Reckoning. 

* The recess left in the stack of corn in the 
barn as the sheaves are removed to the thrash- 
ing floor. 



Ye're a' blind drunk, boys, 
And I'm but jolly fou.* 
Hey tutti, taiti. 
How tutti, taiti— 
Wha's fou now ? 

Cog and ye were aye fou. 
Cog and ye were aye fou, 
I wad sit and sing to you 
If ye were aye fou. 

Weel may ye a' be ! 

Ill may we never see ! 

God bless the king, boy 
And the companie ! 
Hey tutti, taiti. 
How tutti, taiti— 
Wha's fou now ? 



TO DAUNTON ME. 

Tune — " To dauntoa me." 

The blude-red rose at Yule may blaw, 
The simmer lilies bloom in snaw. 
The frost may freeze the deepest sea; 
But an auld man shall never daunton' 
me. 

To daunton me, and me so young, 
Wi' his fause heart and flatt'ring 

tongue. 
That is the thing you ne'er shall see; 
For an auld man shall never dauntou 

me. 

For a' his meal and a' his maut. 
For a' his fresh beef and his saut, 
For a' his gold and white monie. 
An auld man shall never daunton me. 

His gear' may buy him kyeand yowes. 
His gear may buy him glens and 

knowes; 
But me he shall not buy nor fee, fine. 
For an auld man shall never daunton 

He hirples^ twa-fauld as he dow,* 
Wi' his teethless gab" and his auld held 
pow,^ [bleer'd ee. 

And the rain dreeps down frae his red 
That auld man shall never daunton me. 



2 Full. 

' Rule— intimidate. * Wealth. 
* Can. Mouth. « Head. 



'Limpsr 



SONGS. 



217 



COME BOAT ME O'ER TO 
CHARLIE 

Tune — " O'er the Water to Charlie." 

Come boat me o' er, come row me o'er, 
Come boat me o'er to Charlie; 

I'll gie John Ross another bawbee, 
To boat me o'er to Charlie. 

We'll o'er the water and o'er the sea, 
We'll o'er the water to Charlie; 

Come weel, come woe, we'll gath 
er and go, 
And live or die wi' Charlie. 

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name, 
Though some there be abhor him ; 

But oh, to see auld Nick gaun hame, 
And Chaiiie's faes before him 1 

I swear and vow by moon and stars, 
And sun that shines so early, 

If I had twenty thousand lives, 
I'd die as aft for Charlie. 



RATTLIN', ROARIN' WILLIE. 

Tune — " Ratthn', roarin' Willie." 

" The hero of this chant," says Burns, " was 
one of the worthiest fellows in the world — 
William Dunbar, Esq., writer to the Signet^ 
Edinburgh, and colonel of the Crochallan 
corps — a club of wits, who took that title at 
the time of raising the fencible regiments." 
The last stanza only was the work of the 
poet. 

O kattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Oh, he held to the fair. 
And for to sell his fiddle. 

And buy some other ware; 
But parting w4' his fiddle. 

The saut tear blin't his ee; 
And rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me ! 

O Willie, come sell your fiddle. 

Oh, sell your fiddle so fine; 
O Willie come sell your fiddle, 

And buy a pint o' wine ! 
If I should sell my fiddle. 

The warl' would think I was mad; 
For mony a rantin' day 

My fiddle and I hae had. 

As I cam by Crochallan, 
I cannily keekit beu— 



Rattlin', roarin' Willie 

Was sitting at yon board en'; 
Sitting at yon board en'. 

And amang guid companie; 
Rattlin', roarin' Willie, 

Ye're welcome hame to me! 



MY HOGGIE.* 
Tune — " What will I do gin my hoggie die t"^ 

What will I do gin my hoggie die ? 

My joy, my pride, my hoggie! 
My only beast, I had nae mae. 

And vow but I was vogie!' 

The lee lang night we watch'd the 
fauld, 

Me and my faithfu* doggie; 
We heard nought but the roaring linn, 

Amang the braes sae scroggiep 

But the houlet cried f rae the castle wa'. 
The blutter^ frae the boggie. 

The tod* replied upon the hill, 
I trembled for my hoggie. 

When day did daw, and cocks did craw. 
The morning it was foggie; 

An unco tyke® lap o'er the dike, 
And maist. has kill'd my hoggie. 



UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 

The chorus of this song is old ; but the two 
stanzas are Burns'. 

CHORUS. 

Up in the morning's no for me, 
Up in the morning early; 

When a' the hills are cover'd wi* 
snaw, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 

Cauld blaws the wind frae east to 
west, 

The drift is driving sairly; 
Sae loud and shrill I hear the blast, 

I'm sure it's winter fairly. 



1 Vain. 2 Full of stunted bushes. ^ Mire- 
snipe. * Fox. * A strange dog. 

* Hoggie— 2. young sheep after it is smeared, 
and before it is first shorn. 



318 



BURNS' WORKS. 



The birds sit chittering^ in the thorn, 
A' day they fare but sparely; 

And lang's the night f rae e'en to morn, 
I'm sure it's winter fairly. 



I'M O'ER YOUNG TO MARRY YET. 

Tune — " I'm o'er young to marry yet." 

I AM my mammy's ae bairn, 
Wi' unco' foliv 1 weary, sir; 

And lying in a man's bed, 

I'm fley'd'^ wad male me eerie,^ sir. 

I'm o'er young to marry yet; 

I'm o'er young to marry yet, 
I'm o'er young — 'twad be a sin 
To tak me f rae my mammy yet. 

My mammy coft* me a new gown, 
The kirk maun liae the gracing o't ; 

Were I to lie wi' you, kind sir, 
I'm fear'd ye'd spoil the lacing o't. 

Hallowmas is come and gane. 

The nights are lang in winter, sir, 

And you and I in ae bed, 
In trouth I dare nae venture, sir. 

Fu' loud and shrill the frosty wind 
Blaws through the leafless timmer,* 
sir ; 

But if ye come this gate^ again, 
I'll aulder be gin simmer, sir. 



THE WINTER IS PAST. 

The winter it is past, and the sum- 
mer's come at last. 
And the little birds sing on every tree; 
Now everything is glad, while I am 
very sad. 
Since my true love is parted from me. 

The rose upon the brier, by the waters 

running clear, [the bee, 

May have charms for the linnet or 

Their little loves are blest, and their 

little hearts at rest, 

But my true love is parted from me. 



' Shivering. 

> Strange. ^ Afraid. ^ Timorous. * Bought. 
» Trees. » Way. 



My love is like the sun, in the firma- 
ment does run, 
For ever is constant and true; 
But his is like the moon, that wanders 
up and down. 
And is every month changing anew. 

All you that are in love, and cannot it 
remove, 
I pity the pains you endure : 
For experience makes me know that 
you hearts are full o' woe, 
A woe that no mortal can cure. 



OH, WILLIE BREW'D A PECK 0' 
MAUT. 

Tune — " Willie brew'd a peck o' maut.' 

The poet's account of the origin of this song 
is as follows . — " The air is Allan Master- 
ton's, the song mine. The occasion of it 
was this — Mr. William Nicol of the High 
School, Edinburgh, being at Moffat during 
the autumn vacation, honest Allan — who 
was at that time on a visit to Dalswinton — 
and I went to pay Nicol a visit. We had 
such a joyous meeting that Masterton and I 
agreed, each in our own way, that we should 
celebrate the business." 

Oh, Willie brew'd a peck of maut, 
And Rob and Allan came to pree;* 

Three blither hearts, that lee-lang 
night, 
Ye wadna find in Christendie. 

We are na fou, we're na that fou, 
But just a drappie in our ee; 

The cock may craw, the daj'^ may daw. 
And aye we'll taste the barley bree. 

Here are we met, three merry boys, 
Three merry boys, I trow, are we; 

And mony a night we've merry been, 
And mony mae we hope to be ! 

It is the moon — I ken her horn, 
That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie; 

She shines sae bright to wile us hame, 
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee! 

Wha first shall rise to gang awa', 
A cuckold, coward loon is he ! 

Wha last beside his chair shall fa'. 
He is the king amang us three ! 



> Taste. 



soj;qs. 



219 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Tune — "Death of Captain Cook." 

The story of Mary Campbell has been briefly 
alluded to in the memoir of the poet, and in 
the notes to the Correspondence. She be- 
longed to the neighbourhood of Dunoon, a 
beautiful watering-place on the Clyde, and 
was in the service of Colonel Montgomery 
of Coilsfield when the poet made her ac- 
quaintance, and afterwards in that of Gavin 
Hamilton. They would appear to have been 
seriously attached to each other. When 
Jean Armour's father had ordered her to 
relinquish all claims on the poet, his 
thoughts naturally turned to Mary Camp- 
bell. It was arranged that Mary should 
give up her place with the view of making 
preparations for their union ; but before 
she went home they met in a sequestered 
spot on the banks of the Ayr. Standing on 
either side of a purling brook, and holding 
aBible between them, they exchanged vows 
of eternal fidelity. Mary presented him with 
her Bible, the poet giving his own in ex- 
change. This Bible has been preserved, 
and on a blank leaf, in the poet's hand- 
writing, is inscribed, "And ye shall not 
swear by my name falsely ; I am the Lord," 
(Lev. xix. 12.) On the second volume, 
" Thou Shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt 
perform unto the Lord thine oath." (Matt. 
V. 33.) And on another blank leaf his name 
and mark as a Royal Arch mason. The 
lovers never met again, Mary Campbell 
having died suddenly at Greenock. Over 
her grave a monument has been erected by 
the admirers of the poet. On the third an- 
niversary of her death, Jean Armour, then 
his wife, noticed that, towards the evening, 
"he grew sad about something, went into 
the barn-yard, where he strode restlessly up 
and down for some time, although repeat- 
edly asked to come in. Immediately on 
entering the house, he sat down and wrote 
'To Mary in Heaven,'" which Lockhart 
characterizes " as the noblest of all his bal- 
lads." 

Tnou ling't'ing star, witli less'ning ray, 

That lovest to greet the early moru, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest? 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st tliou the groans that rend 
his breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget. 

Can I forget the hallow'd grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met. 

To live one day of parting love ! 
Eternity will not efface [past; 

Those records dear of transports 
Thy image at our la.st embrace, 

Ah 1 little thought we 'twas our lastl 



Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, 

O'erhung with wild woods, tliick'n- 
ing green. 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar. 

Twined amorous round the raptured 
scene ; 
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest. 

The birds sang love on every spray — • 
Till too, too soon, the glowing west 

Proclaim 'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my memory 
wakes, 
And fondly broods with miser care I 
Time but the impression stronger 
malces. 
As streams their channels deeper 
wear, 
My Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest I 
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 
Hear'st thou the groans that rend 
his breast ? 



THE LADDIES BY THE BANKS 

0" NITH. 

Tune — " Up and waur them a'.'' 

The following ballad originated in a contest 
for the representation of the Dumfries 
burghs, which took place in September, 
1789, between the former member. Sir James 
Johnston of Westerhall, who was supported 
by the court and the Tories, and Captaia 
Miller of Dalswinton, the eldest son of the 
poet's landlord, who had the interest of the 
Duke of Queensberry and the Whigs. As 
Burns had the warmest veneration for in- 
dividuals of both parties, he wished to 
avoid taking any active part on either side, 
and contented himself therefore with pen- 
ning this piece chiefly against the Duke of 
Pueensberry, the largest landed proprietor 
in Nilhsdale, and for whose character he 
seeems to have entertained the utmost de- 
testation. The allusion in the first verse is 
to the vote his Grace gave on the regency 
question, when he deserted the king, his 
master, in whose household he held office, 
and supported the right of the Prince of 
Wales to assume the government without 
the consent of Parliament. 

The laddies by the banks o' Nith 
Wad trust his Grace wi' a', Jamie; 

But he'll sair^ them as he sair'd the 
king. 
Turn tail and rin awa', Jamie. 



^ Serve. 



220 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Up and waur- tliem a' Jamie, 
Up and waur them a'; [o't. 

The Johnstons hae the guidin' 
Ye turncoat Whigs, awa'. 

The day he stood his country's friend, 
Or gaed her faes a claw, Jamie, 

Or frae puir man a blessin' wan. 

That day the duke ne'er saw, Jamie. 

But wha is he, the country's boast. 
Like him there is na twa, Jamie; 

There's no a callant^ tents'* the kye,^ 
But kens o' Westerha', Jamie. 

To end the wark here's Whistlebirck,* 
Lang may his whistle blaw, Jamie; 

And Maxwell true o' sterling blue. 
And we'll be Johnstons a', Jamie, 

Up and waur them a', Jamie, 
Up and waur them a'; [o't, 

The Johnstons hae the guidin' 
Ye turncoat Whigs, awa'. 



THE FIVE CARLINES. 

Tune — " Chevy-chace." 

This is another ballad which the poet penned 
on the contested election mentioned above. 
It represents the five burghs in cleverly- 
drawn figurative characters — Dumfries, 
as Maggy on the banks of Nith : An- 
nan, as Blinking Bess of Annandale : Kirk- 
cudbright, as Whisky Jean of Galloway ; 
Sanquhar, as Black Joan frae Crichton 
Peel ; and Lochmaben, as Marjory of the 
Many Lochs — each of which is more or less 
locally appropriate. 

Theee were five carlines' in the south, 

They fell upon a scheme. 
To send a lad to Lon'on town. 

To bring them tidings hame. 

Not only bring them tidings hame, 
But do their errands there; 

And aiblins^ gowd and honour baith 
Might be that laddie's share. 

There was Maggy by the banks o' 
Nith, 
A dame wi' pride enough ; 



* Beat. 3 Boy. * Tends. ^ Cows. 

1 Old women. ^ Perhaps. 

* Alexander Birtwhistle, Esq., merchant in 
Kirkcudbright, and provost of the burgh. 



And Marjory o' the Mony Lochs, 
A caiiiue auld and teugh, 

And Blinkin Bess of Annandale, 
That dwelt near Solway-side, 

And Whisky Jean, that took her gil] 
In Galloway sae wide. 

And Black Joan, frae Crichton Peel, 

O' gipsy kith and kin ; — 
Five wighter-^ carlines werena foun' 

The south countrie within. 

To send a lad to Lon'on town. 

They met upon a day; 
And mony a knight, and mony a laird, 

Their errand fain wad gae. 

Oh, mony a knight, and mony a laird. 

This errand fain wad gae; 
But nae ane could their fancy please, 

Oh, ne'er ane but twae. 

The first he was a belted knight,* 

Bred o' a Border clan ; 
And lie wad gae to Lon'on town. 

Might nae man him withstan' ; 

And he wad do their errands weel, 

And meikle he wad say; 
And ilka ane at Lon'on court 

Wad bid to him guid day. 

Then neist cam in a sodger youth,f 
And spak wi' modest grace. 

And he wad gae to Lon'on town. 
If sae their pleasure was. 

He wadna hecht^ them courtly gifts, 
Nor meikle speech pretend; 

But he wad hecht an honest heart 
Wad ne'er desert his friend. 

Now, wham to choose, and wham re 
fuse. 

At strife thir carlines fell ; 
For some had gentlefolks to please. 

And some wad please themsel. 

Then out spak mim-mou'd^ Meg o' 
Nith, 

And she spak up wi' pride. 
And she wad send the sodger youth. 

Whatever might betide. 



5 More powerful, 
mouthed. 



■* Promise. 



' Prin? 



* Sir J. Johnston. 
t Captain Miller. 



SONGS. 



22t 



For the auld guidman:]: o' Lon'on court 

She didna care a pin; 
But she wad send a sodger youth 

To greet his eldest son.g 

Then up sprang Bess of Annandale, 

And swore a deadly aith. 
Says, ' ' I will send the Border knight 

Spite o' you carlines baith. 

"For far-off fowls hae feathers fair, 
And fools o' change are fain; 

But 1 hae tried this Border knig' 
And I'll try him yet again. " 

Then Whisky Jean spak owre her 
drink, 

" Ye weel ken, kimmers a', 
The auld guidman o' Lon'on court, 

His back's been at the wa'. 

" And mony a friend that kiss'd his 
cup 

Is now a f remit^ wight, 
But it's ne'er be said o' Whisky Jean, 

I'll send the Border knight." 

Says Black Joan frae Crichton Peel, 
A carline stoor ' and grim, — 

" The auld guidman, and the young 
guidman. 
For me may sinlc or swim ; 

" For fools will prate o' right and 

wrang, 
. While knaves laugh in their sleeve ; 
But wha blows best the horn shall 

win, 
I'll spier nae courtier's leave." 

Then slow raise Marjory o' the Lochs, 
And wrinkled was her brow ; 

Her ancient weed was russet gray, 
Her auld Scots bluid was true. 

" The Lon'on court set light by me — 

I set as light by them ; 
And I will send the sodger lad 

To shaw that court the same. " 

Sae how this weighty plea may end, 
Nae mortal wight can tell : 

God grant the king, and illca man, 
May look weel to himsel ! 

* Estranged. ' Austere. 

i George III. 
§ The Prmce of Wales. 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 
Air — " The Blue-eyed Lass." 

The " Blue-Eyed Lassie" was Miss Jean Jef- 
frey, daughter of the Rev. Mr. Jeffrey of 
Lochmaben, in Dumfriesshire, at whose 
house the poet was a frequent visitor. On 
the occasion of his first visit, the young 
lady, then a charming, blue-eyed creature 
of eighteen, did the honours of the table, 
and so pleased the poet, that next morning 
at breakfast he presented her with the fol- 
lowing passport to fame, in the form of one 
of his finest songs. Miss Jeffrey afterwards 
went out to New York, where she married 
an American gentleman of the name of 
Renwick, to whom she bore a numerous 
family. One of her daughters became the 
wife of Captain VVilks, of the United States 
Navy. 

I GAED a waefu' gate ' yestreen, 

A gate, I fear. Til dearly rue ; 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonny blue. 
'Twas not her golden ringlets bright ; 

Her lips like roses wat wi' dew ; 
Her heaving bosom, lily-white — 

It was her een sae bonny blue. 

She talk'd, she smiled, my heart she 
wiled ; [how ; 

She charm'd my soul — I wist na' 
And aye the stound,^ the deadly 
wound. 

Cam frae her een sae bonny blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to speed,* 

She'll aiblins ^ listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead "* 

To her twa een sae bonny blue. 



WHEN FIRST I SAW FAIR 

JEANIE'S FACE. 

Air — " Maggie Lauder." 

This song first appeared in the IVe^v York 
Mirror in 1846, with the following notice cf 
the heroine, Mrs. Renwick {nee Miss Jean 
Jeffrey) mentioned above: — "The lady to 
whom the following verses — never before 
published — were addressed, known to the 
readers of Burns as the ' Blue-eyed Lassie,' 
is one of a race whose beauties and virtues 
formed for several generations, the inspira- 



i Road. 2 Pang. ^ Perhaps. * Death. 

* A proverbial expression — Give me the 
chance of speaking and the opportunity of 
gaming her favour. 



9S2 



BURNS' WORKS. 



tion of the masters of Scottish song. Her 
mother was Agnes Armstrong", in whose 
honour the touching words and beautiful 
air of ' Roslin Castle^ were composed. 

When first I saw fair Jeani e's face, 

I couldua tell wliat ail'd me, 
My lieart -went fluttering pit-a-pat. 

My een tliey almost fail'd me. 
Site's aye sae neat, sae trim, sae tight, 

All grace does round her hover, 
Ae look deprived me o' my heart, 
And I became a lover. 

She's aye, aye sae blithe, sae gay. 
She's aye so blithe and cheerie ; 
She's aye sae bonny, blithe,and gay. 
Oh, gin I were her dearie ! 

Had I Dundas' whole estate, 

Or Hopetoun's wealth to shine in ; 
Did warlike latirels crown my brow. 

Or humbler bays entwining — 
I'd laid them a' at Jeanie's feet, 

Could I but hope to move her. 
And prouder than a belted knight, 

I'd be my Jeanie's lover. 

She's aye, aye sae blithe, &c. 

But sair I fear some happier swain 

Has gained sweet Jeanie's favour : 
If so, may every bliss be hers. 

Though I maun never have her ; 
But gang she east, or gang she west, 

'Twixt Forth and Tweed all over. 
While men have eyes, or ears or taste. 

She'll always find a lover. 

She's aye, aye sae blithe, &c. 



MY LOVELY NANCY. 
Tune—" The Quaker's Wife." 

'The following song," says the poet, in a 
letter to Clannda, to whose charms, prob- 
ably, we owe the lines, " is one of my latest 
productions ; and I send it to you as I 
would do anything else, because it pleases 
myself :" — 

Thine am I, my faithful fair, 
Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 

Every pulse along my veins. 
Every roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart. 
There to throb and languish ; 

Though despair had wrung its core. 
That would heal its anguish. 



Take away these rosy lips, 
Rich with balmy treasure ; 

Turn away thine eyes of love. 
Lest I die with pleasure. 

What is life when wanting love ? 

Night without a morning: 
Love's the cloudless summer sun. 

Nature gay adorning. 



TIBBIE DUNBAR. 

Tune—" Johnny M'Gill." 
Oh, wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie 

Dunbar? [Dunbar? 

Oh, wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie 
Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn 

in a car, [Dunbar? 

Or walk by my side, oh, sweet Tibbie 

I care na thy ^daddie, his lands and his 
money, [lordly: 

I care na thy kin, sae high and sae 

But say thou wilt hae me for better for 
waur — [Dunbar ! 

And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie 



WHEN ROSY MAY COMES IN 
Wr FLOWERS. 

Tune — " The gardener wi' his paidle." 

The poet afterwards produced a new version 
of this song, with a change in the burden at 
the end of the stanzas. 

When rosy May comes in wi' flowers. 
To deck her gay green-spreading bow- 
ers, 
Then busy, busy, are his hours — 

The gardener wi'his paidle.' 
The crystal waters gently fa* 
The merry birds are lovers a'; 
The scented breezes round him blaw — 

The gardener wi' his paidle. 

When purple morning starts the hare 
To steal upon her early fare, [pair — ■ 
Then through the dews he maun re- 

The gardener wi' his paidle. 
When day, expiring in the west. 
The curtain draws of nature's rest. 
He flies to her arms he lo'es the be&t— • 

The gardener wi' his paidle. 
_^ A 

»Hoe, 



soxas. 



223 



MY HAKRY WAS A GALLANT 
GAY. 

Tune — " Highlander's Lament." 

The chorus of this song, the poet tells us, he 
picked up from an old woman in Dunblane, 
the rest being his own. The old song was 
composed on a Highland love affair ; but 
this version was evidently intended for a 
Jacobite melody. 

My Harry was a gallant gay, 

Fu' stately strode he on the plain; 

But now he's banish'd. far away, 
I'll never see him back again. 

Oh, for him back again ! 
Oh, for him back again ! 
I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land 
For Highland Harry back again. 

When a' the lave' gae to their bed, 
I wander dowie"^ up the glen; 

I set me down and greet'* my fill. 
And aye I wish him back again. 

Oh, were some villains liangit high, 
And ilka body had their ain ! 

Then I might see the joyfu' sight. 
My Highland Harry back again. 



BEWARE 0' BONNY ANN. 

Tune — " Ye gallants bright." 

'"I composed this song," says the poet, "out 
of compliment to Miss Ann Masterton, the 
daughter of my friend, Mr. Allan Master- 
ton, composer of the air, ' Strathallan's La- 
ment.' " 

Ye gallants bright, I rede' ye right, 

Beware o' bonny Ann; 
Her comely face sae f u' o' grace. 

Your heart she will trepan.^ 
Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 

Her skin is like the swan; 
Sae jimply^ laced her geuty waist, 

That sweetly ye might span. 

Youth, Grace, and Love, attendant 
move. 

And Pleasure leads the van : [arms, 
Li a' their charms, and conquering 

They wait on bonny Ann. 

1 Rest. 2 Sad. ^ Cry. 
1 Warn. » Ensnare. » Tightly. 



The captive bands may chain the hands, 
But love enslaves the man; 

Ye gallants braw, I rede you a', 
Beware o' bonny Ann 1 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 
Tune — " John Anderson, my Jo." 

John Anderson, my jo'' John, 

When we were first acquent; 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonny brow was brent. ^ 
But now your brow is held, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw; 
But blessings on your frosty pow,* 

John Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither; 
And mony a canty* day, John, 

We've had Avi' ane anither. 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go; 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 



THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR. 

Tune — " Cameronian Rant." 

" Oh cam ye here the fight to shun, 

Or herd the sheep wi' me, man 1 
Or were ye at the Sherra-muir, 

And did the battle see man ?" 
" I saw the battle sair and tough, 
And reekin' red ran mony a sheugh ;' 
My heart, for fear, gaed sough'-' for 

sough. 
To hear the thuds, ^ and see thecluds, 
0' clans f rae woods, in tartan duds,* 

Wha glaum'd= at kingdoms three, 
man. 

" The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades, 
To meet them werna slaw, man; 

They rush'd and push'd, and bluid out- 
gush'd, 
And mony a bouk^ did fa', man: 

The great Argyle led on his files, 

I wat they glanced for twenty miles. 



> Love— dear. « Smooth. ^ Head. * Happy. 
1 Ditch. 2 Sigh, s Knocks. * Clothes. 
• Grasped. * Trunk, body. 



234 



BURNS' WORKS. 



They liack'd and hash'd while broad- 
swords clash'd, [and smash'd 
And through they dash'd, and hew'd 
'Till fey^ men died awa', man. 

" But had ye seen the philabegs, 
And skyrin^ tartan trews, man; 
When in the teeth they dared our 
Whigs 
And covenant true-blues, man; 
In lines extended lang and large. 
When bayonets o'erpower'd the targe, 
And thousands hasten'd to the charge, 
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the 

sheath 
Drew blades o' death, till out o' breath. 
They fled like frightened doos,^ 
man." 

" Oh, how deil, Tam, can that be true? 

The chase gaed frae the north, man; 
I saw mysel they did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man: 
And at Dunblane, in my ain sight. 
They took the brig wi' a' their might, 
And' straught to Stirling wing'd their 

flight; 
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut; 
And monya huntit, poor red-coat. 

For fearamaist did swarf,'" man! 

" My sister Kate cam up the gate 

Wi' crowdie unto me, man; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man: 
Their left-hand general had nae skill. 
The Angus lads had nae good will 
That day their neibors' bluid to spill ; 
For fear by foes that they should lose 
Their cogs o' brose, they scared at 
blows. 
And hameward fast did flee, man. 

" They've lost some gallant gentlemen 

Amangthe Highland clans, man; 
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain. 

Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man: 
Now wad ye sing this double fight. 
Some fell for wrang, and some for 

right; 
And mony bade the world guid-night; 
Then ye may tell how pell and mell. 
By red claymores, and muskets' knell, 
Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell, 
And Whigs to hell did flee, man. 



"< Predestined. * Shining. '» Pigeons. i" 
Swoon. 



BLOOMING NELLY. 
Tune—" On a Bank of Flowers." 

On a bank of flowers, in a summer day. 

For summer lightly drest. 
The youthful blooming Nelly lay. 

With love and sleep opprest; 
When Willie, wandering through the 
wood. 

Who for her favour oft had sued. 
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd. 

And trembled where he stood. 

Her closed eyes, like weapons sheath- 
ed. 

Were seal'd in soft repose; 
Her lips, still as she fragrant breathed, 

It richer dyed the rose. 
The springing lilies sweetly prest. 

Wild- wan ton, kiss'dher rival breast; 
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd — 

His bosom ill at rest. 

Her robes, light waving in the breeze. 

Her tender limbs embrace! 
Her lovely form, her native ease, 

All harmony and grace! 
Tumultuous tides his pulses roll. 

A faltering, ardent kiss he stole; 
He gazed, he wish'd, he fear'd, he 
blush'd. 

And sigh'd his very soul. 

As flies the partridge from the bralce, 

On fear-inspired \vings. 
So Nelly, starting, half-awake. 

Away affrighted springs: 
But Willie follow'd — as he should; 

He overtook her in the wood; 
He vow'd, he pray'd, he found the 
maid 

Forgiving all and good. 



MY HEART'S IN THE HIGH- 
LANDS. 

Tune—" Faille na Miosg." 

"The first half stanza of this song," says 
Burns, " is old ; the rest is mine." 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 

is not here; [the deer; 

My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasiag 



SONGS. 



225 



A-cliasing tlie wild deer, and following 

tlie roe — [1 go. 

My heart's in tlie HigUands wherever 

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to 
the North, [of worth: 

The birthplace of valour, the country 
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove. 
The hills of the Highlands forever I 
love. 

Farewell to the mountains high cover'd 
with snow; [leys below; 

Farewell to the straths and green val- 

Farewell to the forests and wild-hang- 
ing woods; [ing floods. 

Farewell to the torrents and loud- pour- 

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 
is not here; [the deer; 

My heart's in the Highlands a- chasing 

A -chasing the wild deer, and following 
the roe — [I go. 

My heart's in the Highlands wherever 



THE BANKS OF NITH. 

Tune — " Robie donna Gorach." 

The Thames flows proudly to the sea. 

Where royal cities stately stand; 
But sweeter flows the Nith, to me, 

Where Cummins* ance had high 
command: 
When shall I see that honour'd land, 

That winding stream I love so dear ! 
Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand 

Forever, ever keep me here ? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 

Where spreading hawthorns gayly 
bloom ! 
How sweetly wind thy sloping dales, 

Where lambkins wanton through 

the broom ! [dooln. 

Though wandering, now, must be my 

Far from thy bonny banks and braes. 
May there my latest hours consume, 

Amang the friends of early days 1 



TAM GLEN. 
Tune—" Tam Glen." 
My heart is breaking, dear tittie !' 
Some counsel unto me come len' ; 



' Sister. 
* The well-known Comyns of Scottish his- 
tory. 



To anger them a' is a pity, 

But what will I do wi' Tam Glen I 

I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fallow. 

In poortith I might mak a fen;* 
What care I in riches to wallow, 

If I mauna marry Tam Glen ? 

There's Lowrie the Laird o' Drumeller, 
' ' Guid day to you brute !" he comes 
ben. 
He brags and blaws o' his siller. 
But when wiU he dance like Tam 
Glen? 

My minnie^ does constantly deave me, 
And bids me beware o' young men; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me. 
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him. 
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten; 

But if it's ordain'd I maun take him, 
Oh, wha will I get but Tam Glen ? 

Yestreen at the valentines' dealing. 
My heart to my mou' gied a sten;* 

For thrice I drew ane without failing. 
And thrice it was written — Tam 
Glen! 

The last Halloween I lay watikin'* 
My droukit'' sark-sleeve, as ye ken ;* 

His likeness came up the house staukin'. 
And the very gray breeks o' Tam 
Glen! 

Come counsel, dear tittie ! dont tarry— 
I'll gie ye my bonny black hen, 

Gif ye will advise me to marry 
The lad I lo'e dearly — Tam Glen. 



THE TAILOR. 

Tune—" The tailor fell through the bed, 
thimbles and a'." 

The tailor fell through the bed, thim- 
bles and a'; [bles and a'; 
The tailor fell through the bed, thim- 
The blankets were thin, and the sheets 
they were sma', [bles and a'. 
The tailor fell through the bed, thim- 
— ,. 

' Shift. 3 Mother. ♦ Bound 

5 Watching-. * Wet. 

* For an explanation of this old usage, see, 
under the head " Poems," Note t, page 



S36 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Tlie sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae 
ill; [ill; 

The sleepy bit lassie, she dreaded nae 

The weather was cauld, and the lassie 
lay still, [nae ill. 

She thought that a tailor could do her 

Gie me the groat again, canny young 
ma,n; [man; 

Gie me the groat again, canny young 

The day it is short, and the night it is 
lang, 

The dearest siller that ever I wan ! 

There's somebody weary wi' lying her 
lane: [lane; 

There's somebody weary wi' lying her 

There's some that are dowie,^ I trow 
wad be fain'-* [again. 

To see the bit tailor come skippiu' 



YE HAE LIEN WRANG LASSIE. 

CHORUS. 

Te hae lien a' wrang, lassie, 

Ye've lien a' wrang; 
Ye've lien in an unco' bed, 
And wi' a f remit^ man. 
Your rosy cheeks are turn'd sae wan. 
Ye're greener than the grass, lassie; 
Your coatie's shorter by a span. 
Yet ne'er an inch the less, lassie. 

O lassie, ye hae play'd the fool, 
And we will feel the scorn, lassie; 

For aye the brose ye sup at e'en, 
Ye bock^ them ere the morn, lassie. 

Oh, ance ye danced upon the knowes,^ 
And through the wood ye sang, 
lassie; 

But in the berrying o' a bee byke, 
I fear ye've got a stang, lassie. 



THERE'S A YOUTH IN THIS CITY. 

Tune — " Neil Gow's Lament." 

The first half stanza of this song is old : the 
rest by Burns. 

There's a youth in this city, 
It were a great pity [awa'; 

That he f rae our lasses should wander 



» Melancholy. ^ Glad. 
:. 2 Stranger. ' Vomit. * Hills. 



' Strange. ^ Strange 



For he's bonny an' braw, 

Weel favour'd witha', [a'. 

And his hair has a natural buckle and 

His coat is the hue 

Of his bonnet sae blue; [snaw: 
His fecket* is white as the new-driven 

His hose they are blae, 

And his shoon like the slae, [us 'a. 
And his clear siller buckles they dazzle 

For beauty and fortune 
The laddie's been courtin'; 

Weel-featured, weel-tocher'd, weel- 
mounted, and braw; 
But chiefly the siller. 
That gars him gang till her, 

The penny's the jewel that beautifies 'a. 
There's Meg wi' the mailen.f 
That fain wad a haen him; 

And Susie, whose daddy was laird o' 
the ha'; 
There's lang-tocher'd Nancy 
Maist fetters his fancy — 

But the laddie's dear sel he lo'es dear- 
est of a'. 



OUR THRISSLES FLOURISHED 

FRESH AND FAIR. 

Tune — " Awa', Whigs, awa'." 

The second and fourth stanzas only of this 
song are from the pen of the poet: the 
others belong to an old Jacobite ditty. 

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair. 
And bonny bloom'd our roses; 

But Whigs cam like a frost in J une. 
And wither'd a' our posies. 

Awa', Whigs, awa'! 

Awa', Whigs, awa'! 
Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns. 

Yell do uae guid at a'. 

Our ancient crown's f a'n in the dust — 
Deil blin' them wi' thcstoure o't; 

And write their names in his black 
beuk 
Wha gie the Whigs the power o't; 

Our sad decay in Church and State 

Surpasses my dfescriving; 
The Whigs cam o'er us for a curse, 
• And we hae done wi' thriving. 



* An under waistcoat with sleeves, 
t A well-stocked farm. 



eONGrS. 



337 



Grim Vengeance lang lias ta'en a nap, 
But we may see liim wauken; 

Gude help tlie day when royal heads 
Are hunted like a maukin!' 



COME EEDE ME, DAME. 
Come rede^ me, dame, come tell me, 
dame. 
And nane can tell mair truly, 
What colour maun the man be of 
To love a woman duly. 

The carline^ flew baith up and down, 
And leugh and answer'd ready, 

I learn'd a sang in Annandale, 
A dark man for my lady. 

But for a country quean like thee, 
Young lass, I tell thee fairly. 

That wi' the white I've made a shift. 
And brown will do f u' rarely. 

There's mickle love in raven locks. 
The flaxen ne'er grows youden,* 

There's kiss and hause^ me in the 
brown, 
And glory in the gowden. 

THE CAPTAIN'S LADY. 

Tune — " Oh, mount and go." 
CHORUS. 
Oh, mount and go. 

Mount and make you ready; 
Oh, mount and go, 

And be the captain's lady. 

When the drums do beat. 
And the cannons rattle. 
Thou shalt sit in state, 
And see thy love in battle. 

When the vanquish'd foe 
Sues for peace and quiet 

To the shades we'll go. 
And in love enjoy it. 

OH MERKY HAE I BEEN TEETH- 

IN' A HECKLE. 

Tune — "Lord Breadalbane's March." 

Oh, merry hae I been teethin' a heckle, 

merry hae I been shapin' a 



And 



spoon; 



1 Hare. 
1 Counsel. ^ Old woman. 
or embrace. 



3 Gray. * Hug 



And merry hae I been cloutin'' a ket- 
tle, 
And kissin' my Katie when a' was 
done. [mer. 

Oh, a' the lang day I ca' at my ham- 
And a'the lang day I whistle and sing, 
A' the lang night I cuddle' my kim- 
mer,* [a king. 

And a' the lang night am as nappy's 

Bitter in dool I lickit m.y winnin's, 

0' marrying Bess, to gie her a slave: 

Blest be the hour she cool'd in her 

linens, [her grave! 

And blithe be the bird that sings on 
Come to my arms, my Katie, my Katie, 

And come to my arms and kiss me 
again ! 
Drunken or sober, here's to thee, Katie I 

And blest be the day I did it again. 



EPPIE ADAIR. 
Tune — " My Eppie." 

And oh ! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie! 
Wba wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair ? 
By love, and by beauty. 
By law, and by duty, 
I swear to be true to 

My Eppie Adair 1 

And oh! my Eppie, 
My jewel, my Eppie! 
Wha wadna be happy 

Wi' Eppie Adair? 
A' pleasure exile me. 
Dishonour defile me, 
If e'er I beguile thee. 

My Eppie Adair! 



YOUNG JOCKEY. 

Tune — " Young' Jockey.* 

YoinsfG Jockey was the blithest lad 
In a' our town or here awa', 

Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,' 
Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'. 

He roosed- my een, sae bonny blue, 
He roosed my waist sae genty sma'. 



1 Patching up. - Fondle. " Dearie. 
J FJcurjh. - Praised. 



228 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And aye my heart came to my mou' 
When ne'er a body heard or saw. 

My Jockey toils upon the plain, 

Through wind and weet, through 
frost and snaw; 
And o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain 

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'. 
And aye the night comes round again, 

When in his arms he takes me a'; 
And aye he vows he'll be my ain, 

As lang's he has a breath to draw. 



WEE WILLIE GRAY. 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather 

wallet; [and jacket: 

Peel a willow-wand to be him boots 
The rose upon the brier will be him 

trouse and doublet, 
The rose upon the brier will be him 

trouse and doublet. [wallet, 

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather 
Twice a lily flower will be him sark 

and cravat, [bonnet. 

Feathers of a flee wad feather up his 
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his 

bonnet. 



JAMIE, COME TRY ME. 

Tune — "Jamie, come try me." 
CHORUS. 

Jamie, come try me, 

Jamie, come try me, 

11 thou wad win my love, 

Jamie, come try me. 

if thou should ask my love, 

Could I deny thee ? 
If thou would win my love, 

Jamie, come try me. 

If thou should kiss me, love, 
Wha could espy thee 't 

If thou wad be my love, 
Jamie, come try me. 



THE BATTLE OF KILLIE- 
CRANKIB. 

Tune—" Killiecrankie." 

The chorus of this song-, which celebrates the 
battle where Viscount Dundee fell in the 
moment of victory, is old ; the rest is from 
the pen of Burns. 



Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ? 

Whare hae ye been sae braukie,' 01 
Oh, whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ' 

Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O ? 
An' ye hae been whare I hae been, 

Ye wadna been sae cantie,^ O; 
An' ye ha' seen what I hae seen, 

On the braes of Killiecrankie, O. 

I fought at land, I fought at sea; 

At hame I fought my auntie, O; 
But I met the devil and Dundee, 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 
The bauld Pitcur fell in a fur,* 

And Clavers got a clankie, O; 
Or I had fed on Athole gled,* 

On the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. 



GUIDWIFE, COUNT THE LA WIN. 

Tune — " Guidwife,count the lawia." 

Gane is the day, and mirk's the night. 
But we'll ne'er stray for fau't* o' light. 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon. 
And blude-red wine's the rising sun. 

Then, giiidwife, count the lawin, 

The lav/in, the lawin; 
Then, guidwife, count the lawin. 

And bring a coggie''' mair. 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen, 
And simple folk maun fecht and fen'; 
But here we're a' in ae accord. 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 

My coggie is a haly pool. 

That heals the wounds o' care and dool;' 

And pleasure is a wanton trout. 

An' ye drink but deep ye'll find him out 



WHISTLE O'ER THE LAVE O'T. 

Tune — " Whistle o'er the lave o't." 

First when Maggy was my care. 
Heaven, I thought, was in her air; 
Now we're married — spier^ nae mair— 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. — 
Meg was meek, and Meg was mild. 
Bonny Meg was nature's child; 
Wiser men than me's beguiled — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 



1 Gaudy. * Merry. ^ Furrow. * Kite. 

1 Want. 2 Bumper, ^ Griei. 

lAsk. 



SONGS. 



209 



How we live, my Meg £ind me, 
How we love, aud how we 'gree, 
I care na by how few may see — 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 
Wha I wish were maggots' meat, 
Disli'd up in her winding sheet, 
I could write — but Meg maun see't- 

Whistle o'er the lave o't. 



OH, CAN YE LABOUR LEA. 

Oh, can ye labour lea, young man, 

And can ye labour lea; 
Gae back the gate ye cam again, 

Ye'se never scorn me. 

I fee'd a man at Martinmas, 

Wi' airl-pennies three; 
And a' the faut I fan' wi' him. 

He couldna labour lea. 

The stibble-rig is easy plough'd. 

The fallow land is free; 
But wha wad keep the handless coof , 

That couldna labour lea? 



WOMEN'S MINDS. 

Tune—" For a' that." 
Though women's minds, like winter 
winds, 
May shift and turn and a' that. 
The noblest breast adores them maist, 
A consequence I draw that. 

For a' that, and a' that. 

And twice as muckle's a' that. 

The bonny lass that I lo'e best 
She'll be my ain for a' that. 

Great love I bear to all the fair. 
Their humble slave, and a' that; 

But lordly will, I hold it still, 
A mortal sin to thraw that. 

But there is ane aboon the lave,' 
Has wit, and sense, and a' that; 

A bonny lass, I like her best. 
And wha a crime dare ca' that ? 



IT IS NA, JEAN, THY BONNY 

FACE. 
Tune—" The Maid's Complaint." 
It is na, Jean, thy bonny face. 
Nor shape, that I admire. 



Although thy beauty and thy grace 
Might weel awake desire. 

Something, in ilka part o' thee. 
To praise, to love, I find; 

But, dear as is thy form to me. 
Still dearer is thy mind. 

Nae mair ungenerous vs'ish I hae. 

No stronger in my breast. 
Than if I canna male thee sae. 

At least to see thee blest. 
Content am I, if Heaven shall give 

But happiness to thee: 
And, as wi' thee I'd wish to live, 

For thee I'd bear to die. 



MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE 

YET. 

Tune — " Lady Badinscoth's Reel." 

Mt love she's but a lassie yet. 

My love she's but a lassie yet; 
We'll let her stand a year or twa. 

She'll no be half sae saucy yet. 
I rue the day I sought her, O, 

I rue the day I sought her, 0; 
Wha gets her needna say she's woo'd. 

But he m.ay say he's bought her, O ! 

Come, draw a drap o' the best o't yet; 

Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet; 
Gae seek for pleasure where ye will. 

But here I never miss'd it yet. 
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't; 

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't; 
The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife, 

And couldna preach for thinkin' o't. 



CA' THE EWES. 

Tune — " Ca' the Ewes to the Knowes." 

The fourth and fifth stanzas of this song, 
which was written for the Museum, are old, 
■with a few touches of improvement by 
Burns. He afterwards wrote a much better 
version for Thomson's collection, which will 
be found at p. 263. 

As I gaed down the water-side. 
There I met my shepherd lad, 
He row'd' me sweetly in his plaid, 
And ca'd me his dearie. 

1 Wrapt. 



230 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Ca' the ewes to the knowes, 
Ca' tliem wliare the heather grows, 
Ca' them whare the burnie rovves, 
My bormy dearie ! 

Y/ill ye gang down the water-side. 
And see the waves sae sweetly glide ? 
Beneath the hazels spreading wide 
The moon it shines f u' clearly. 

I was bred up at nae sic school, 
My shepherd lad, to play the fool. 
And a' the day to sit in dool,^ 
And naebody to see me. 

Ye sail get gowns and ribbons meet, 
Cauf-leather shoon upon your feet. 
And in my arms ye'se lie and sleep. 
And ye sail be my dearie. 

If ye'll but stand to what ye've said, 
I'se gang wi' you, my shepherd lad. 
And ye may rowe me in your plaid, 
And I sail be your dearie. 

While waters wimple^ to the sea; 
While day blinks in the lift* sae hie; 
Til] clay-cauld death sail blin' my ee, 
Ye sail be my dearie. 



SIMMER'S A PLEASANT TIME. 

Tune — " Aye Waukin, O." 

This is an old song, on which the poet appears 
to have made only a few alterations. 

Simmer's a pleasant time. 

Flowers of every colour; 
The water rins o'er the heugh,' 

And I long for my true lover. 

A waukin, O, 

Waukin still and wearier 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

Wlien I sleep I dream. 

When I wauk I'm eerie;* 
Sleep I can get nane 

For thinking on my dearie. 

Lanely night comes on, 

A' the lave^ are sleepin'; 
I think on my bonny lad, 

And I bleer my een with greetin'.^ 



^ Grief. ' Wander. * Heavens. 
* Steep. - Timorous. ^ Rest. * Weeping. 



THERE'LL NEVER BE PBACB 
TILL JAMIE COMES HAMS. 

Tune— "There are few guid fellows when 
Willie's awa'." 

" When political combustion," says the poet, 
in a letter to Thomson, enclosing this sons', 
which had evidently been composed wliiie 
in a Jacobitical mood, "ceases to be the 
object of princes and patriots, it then, you 
know, becomes the lawful prey of historians 
and poets." 

By yon castle wa', at the close of the 

day, [was gray: 

I heard a man sing, though his head it 
And as he was singing, the tears fast 

down came, [comes hame. 

There'll never be peace till Jamie 
The Church is in ruins, the State is in 

jars; [ouswars; 

Delusions, oppressions, and murder- 
We darena weel say't, though we ken 

vi'ha's to blame — [hame I 

There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew 

sword, [beds in the yerd.^ 

And now I greet' round their green 
It brak the sweet heart of my faithfa' 

auld dame — [hame. 

There'll never be peace till Jamie comes 
Now life is a burthen that bows me 

down, [crown; 

Since I tint^ my bairns, and he tint his 
But till my last moments my words are 

the same — [liame. 

There'll never be peace till Jamie comss 



LOVELY DAVIES. 

Tune — " Miss Muir." 

The heroine of this song was Miss Deborah 
Davies, a beautiful young Englishwoman, 
connected by ties of blood with the family 
of Captain Riddel of Glenriddel, at whose 
house the poet probably first met her. Her 
beauty and accomplishments appear to have 
made a deep impression upon the poet, for 
he has celebrated them in a number of effu- 
sions in both prose and verse. In a letter to 
her enclosing this song, he says, in a strain 
of enthusiastic gallantry : — " When my 
theme is youth and beauty — a young lady 
whose persona! charms, wit, and sentiment, 
are equally striking and unaffected — by 
Heavens ! though I had lived threescore 
years a married man, and threescore 
years before I was a married man, my 



I Weep. 2 Churchyard. ^ Lost. 



SONGS. 



231 



imagination would hallow the very idea ; 
and I am truly sorry that the enclosed 
stanzas have done such poor justice to such 
a subject." 

Oh, how shall I unskilfu' try 

The poet's occupation, 
The tunef u' powers, in happy hours, 

That whisper inspiration ? 
Even they maun dare an effort mair 

Than aught they ever gave us, 
Or they rehearse, in equal verse, 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 

Each eye it cheers, when she appears. 

Like Phoebus in the morning, [er 
When past the shower and every flow- 

The garden is adorning. [shore. 

As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's 

When winter- bound the wave is; 
Sae droops our heart when we maun 
part 

Frae charming, lovely Davies. 

Her smile's a gift, frae 'boon the lift, 

That maks us mair than j^rinces; 
A sceptred hand, a king's command, 

Is in her darting glances: [charms, 
The man in arms, 'gainst female 

Even he her willing slave is; 
He hugs his chain, and owns the reign 

Of conquering, lovely Davies. 

My Muse, to dream of such a theme, 

Her feeble powers surrender; 
The eagle's gaze alone surveys 

The sun's meridian splendour: 
I wad in vain essay the strain. 

The deed too daring brave is; 
I'll drap the lyre, and mute admire 

The charms o' lovely Davies. 



THE BONNY WEE THING. 

Tune — " Bonny wee Thing." 

This is another, though briefer and more sen- 
timental, song in celebration of the lady 
mentioned above—" The charming, lovely 
Davies." 

Bonny wee thing, cannie wee thing, 
Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 

I Wad wear thee in my bosom, 
Lest my jewel I should tine.' 

^ Lose. 



Wishfully I look and languish 
In that bonny face o' thine; 

And my heart it stounds'^ wi' anguisli, 
Lest my wee thing be na mine. 

Wit, and grace, and love, and beauty, 

In ae constellation shine; 
To adore thee is my duty, 

Goddess o' this soul o' mine ! 
Bonny wee thing, cannie wee thing, 

Lovely wee thing, wert thou mine, 
I wad wear thee in my bosom , 

Lest my jewel I should tine J 



WAR SONG. 

Air—" Oran an Doig ;" or, " The Song of 
Death." 

"I have just finished," says the poet, in a 
letter to Mrs. Dunlop. enclosing this noble 
lyric, " the following song, which, to a lady, 
the descendant of Wallace, and herself the 
mother of several soldiers, needs neither 
preface nor apology." The subject, the 
poet tells us, was suggested to him by an 
Isle-of-Skye tune entitled, "Oran an 
Doig ;" or, " The Song of Death," which he 
found in a collection of Highland airs, and 
to the measure of which he adapted his 
stanzas. 

Scene — A field of battle — Time of the day. 
Evening — The wounded and dying of the 
victorious army are supposed to join in the 
following song : — 

Faeewell, thovi fair day, thou green 
earth, and ye skies. 
Now gay with the broad setting sun ! 
Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear 
tender ties ! 
Our race of existence is run ! 

Thou grim King of Terrors, thou life's 

gloomy foe ! 

Go, frighten the coward and slave ! 

Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant I 

but know. 

No terrors hast thou to the brave 1 

Thou strik'st the dull peasant, — ^he 
sinks in the dark, [name; — 

Nor saves e'en the wreck of a 
Thou strik'st the young hero — a glori- 
ous mark ! 
He falls in the blaze of his fame ! 



* Aches. 



232 



BURXS' WORKS. 



In tlie fields of proud lionour — our 
swords in our hands 
Our king and our country to save — 
While victory shines on life's last ebb- 
ing sands — [brave ! 
Oh ! who would not die with the 



AE FOND KISS. 

Tune—" Rory Ball's Port." 

This exquisitely beautiful song sprang from 
the depth of the poet's passion for Clarinda ; 
and is one of the most vehement and im- 
pressive outbursts of intense feeling ever 
written. 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; 
Ae fareweel, and then, forever! 
Deep in heart-v/rung tears I'll pledge 
thee, [thee. 

W^arring sighs and groans I'll wage 

Who shall say that Fortune grieves 

him, 
While the star of hope she leaves him ? 
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me; 
Dark despair around benights me, 

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy, 
Kaething could resist my Nancy; 
But to see her was to love her; 
Love but her, and love forever. 

Had we never loved sae kindly. 
Had we never loved sae blindly. 
Never met — or never parted. 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 

Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest! 
Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest! 
Thine be ilka joy and treasure. 
Peace, Enjoyment, Love, and Pleasure! 

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever; 
Ae fareweel, alas! forever! 
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge 
tliee, [thee ! 

Warring sighs and groans I'll wage 



GLOOMY DECEMBER. 

TtTNE — " Wandering Willie." 

The last interview of the poet with Clarinda 
took place in Edinburgh on the 6th of De- 
cember, 1791, and appears to have been 



deeply affecting on both sides. In remem- 
brance of this meeting, and while still under 
the influence of the feelings evoked by it, 
the poet composed these beautiful lines : — 

Ance mair I hail thee, thou gloomy 
December! [care; 

Ance mair I hail the, wi' sorrow and 
Sad was the parting thou makes me re- 
member, [mair. 
Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet 

Fond lovers' parting is sweet painful 
pleasure, [ing hour; 

Hope beaming mild on the soft part- 
But the dire feeling, oh, farewell for- 
ever! [pure. 
Is anguish unmingled, and agony 

Wild as the winter now tearing the 

forest, [flown; 

Till the last leaf o' the summer is 

Such is the tempest has shaken my 

bosom, [is gone! 

Since my last hope and last comfort 

Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy Decem- 
ber, [care ; 
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and 
For sad was the parting thou makes me 
remember, [mair. 
Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet 



BEHOLD THE HOUR. 

Tune — " Oran Gaoil." 

A month after the interview mentioned in the 
introduction to the preceding song — on the 
2Sth of January, 1792 — Clarinda, in antici- 
pa'tion of her immediate departure for Ja- 
maica to join her husband, wrote to the poet 
bidding him farewell. " Seek God's favour," 
she says ; " keep His commandments — be 
solicitous to prepare for a happy eternity. 
There, I trust, we will meet in never-ending 
bliss !" She sailed a month afterwards ; and 
the poet poured his feelings on the occasioa 
into the following fine song : — 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive. 
Thou goest, thou darling of my 
heart ! 
Sever'd from thee can I survive ? 
Bat Fate has will'd, and we must 
part. 

I'll often greet this surging swell. 
Yon distant isle will often hail: 



SONGS. 



233 



" E'en here I took the last farewell; 
There latest inark'd. her vanish'd 
saill"* 

Along the solitary shore, 

Wnile flitting sea-fo\vl round me cry, 
Across the rolling dashing roar, 

I'll westward turn my wistful eye. 

Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say, 
Where now my Nancy's path may be! 

While through thy sweets she loves to 
stray. 
Oh, tell me, does she muse oa me ? 



THE MIRK NIGHT O' DECEMBER. 

Tune — " O May, thy morn." 

The following- song-, the production of a 
lighter mood, is also said to have been writ- 
ten in commemoration of the final meeting 
■with Clarinda : — 

O May, thy morn was ne'er sae sweet. 

As the mirk night o' December; 
For sparkling was the rosy wine. 

And private was the chamber: 
And dear was she I darena name, 

But I will aye remember. 
And dear was she I darena name, 

Btit I will aye remember. 

And here's to them that, like oursel. 

Can push about the jorum ; 
And here's to them that wish us weel, 

JNIay a' that's guid watch o'er them! 
And here's to them we darena tell. 

The dearest o' the quorum. 
And here's to them we darena tell. 

The dearest o' the quorum ! 



MY NANNIE'S AWA'. 

Tune — "There'll never be peace." 

Some months after the departure of Clarinda, 
when time had mellowed the poet's passion, 

* The above two stanzas of this song are 
given by Chambers as follows : — 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ! 

My dearest Nancy, oh, fareweel ! 
Sever'd frae thee, can I survive, 

Frae thee whom I hae loved sae weel ? 

Endless and deep shall be my g-rief ; 

Nae ray o' comfort shall I see ; 
But this inost precious, dear belief ! 

That thou wilt still remember me. 



and absence calmed the tumult of his feel- 
ings, he wrote the following touching pas- 
toral : — 

Now in her green mantle blithe nature 
arrays, [o'er the braes. 

And listens the lambkins that bleat 

While birds warble welcome in ilka 
green sliaw;' [Nannie's awa' ! 

But to me it's delightless — my 

The snaw-drap and primrose our wood- 
lands adorn, [morn; 

And violets bathe in the weet- o' the 

They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly 
they blavv, [Nannie's awa' ! 

They mind me o' Nannie — and 

Thou laverock that springs frae the 

dews of the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o' the gray 

breaking dawn, [night fa', 

And thou mellow mavis that hails the 
Give over for pity — my Nannie's awa'! 

Come, Autumn sae pensive, in yellow 
and gray, [decay: 

And soothe me with tidings o' Nature's 

The dark dreary winter, and wild driv- 
ing snaw, [awa' ! 

Alane can delight me — now Nannie's 



W^ANDERING WILLIE. 

In composing this song, Burns is thought to 
have thrown himself sympathetically into 
the circumstances of his mistress — Clarinda 
— and to have given expression to tlie feel- 
ings with which he supposed her to be ani- 
mated in seeking, after a separation of 
many years, a reunion with her wayward, 
wandering husband. The idea of this song 
appears to have been taken from an old 
one, of which the two following verses have 
been preserved ; — 

" Here awa', there awa', here awa', Willie, 
Here awa', there awa', here awa' hame ; 
Long have I sought thee, dear have I bought 
thee, 
Now I hae gotten my Willie again. 

" Through the lang muir I have follow'd my 
Willie. 
Through the lang muir I have follow d 
him hame ; 
Whatever betide us, nought shall divide us. 
Love now rewards all my sorrow and 
pain." 



» Wood. 



* Dew. 



S34 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Heee awa', tliere awa', wandering 

Willie, fliame; 

Here awa', there awa', liaud awa' 

Come to my bosom, my ain only dearie, 

Tell me thou bring'st me my Willie 

the same. 

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at 

our parting, [in my ee; 

Fears for my Willie brought tears 

Welcome now simmer, and welcome 

my Willie — [to me. 

The simmer to nature, iny Willie 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of 

your slumbers, [alarms ! 

How your dread howling a lover 

Wauken, ye breezes ! row gently, ye 

billows ! [to my arms ! 

And waft my dear laddie ance mair 

But oh, if he's faithless, and minds na 

his Nannie, [roaring main ! 

Flow still between us thou wide 

May I never see it, may I never trow it. 

But, dying, believe that my Willie's 

my ain. 



THE DEIL'S AWA' WF THE 
EXCISEMAN. 

"Tune — " The deil cam fiddling through the 
town." 

The deil cam fiddling through the 
town. 

And danced awa' wi' the Exciseman, 
And ilka wife cries — " Auld Mahoun, 

I wish you luck o' the pi'ize, man !" 

The deil's awa', the deil's awa'. 
The deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman ; 

He's danced awa', he's danced awa'. 
He's danced awa' wi' the Excise- 
man I 

We'll mak our maut, we'll brew our 

drink, [man; 

We'll dance and sing, and rejoice. 

And mony braw thanks to the meikle 

black deil 

That danced awa' wi' the Exciseman. 

The deil's awa', the deil's awa'. 
The deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman : 



He's danced awa', he's danced awa', 
He's danced awa' wi' the Excise- 
man! 

There's threesome reels, there's four- 
some reels, [man; 
There's hornpipes and strathspeys. 
But the ae best dance e'er cam to the 
land, [man. 
Was — the deil's awa' wi' the Excise- 

The deil's awa', the deil's awa'. 
The deil's awa' wi' the Exciseman; 

He's danced awa', he's danced awa'. 
He's danced awa' wi' the Excise- 
man ' 



BONNY LESLEY, 

The poet ia a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, gives the 
following account of the origin of this song : 
— " Apropos ! — do you know that I am 
almost in love with an acquaintance of 
yours ? Know, then," said he, " that the 
heart-struck awe, the distant humble 
approach, the delight we should have in 
gazing upon and listening to a messenger of 
Heaven, appearing in all the unspotted pur- 
ity of his celestial home, among the coarse, 
polluted, far inferior sons of men, to deliver 
to them tidings that should make their 
hearts swim in joy, and their imaginations 
soar in transport, — such, so delighting and 
and so pure, were the emotions of my soul 
on meeting the other day with Miss Lesley 
Baillie, your neighbour at Mayfield. Mr. 
Baillie, with his two daughters, accompanied 
by Mr. H. of G., passing through Dumfries 
a few days ago, on their way to England, 
did me the honour of calling on me, on 
which I took my horse, (though God knows 
I could ill spare the time,) and accompanied 
them fourteen or fifteen miles, and dined 
and spent the day with them. 'Twas about 
nine, I think, when I left them ; and ridmg 
home, I composed the following ballad. 
You must know that there is an old one 
beginning with — 

' My bonny Lizzie Baillie, 

I'll rowe thee in my plaidie, &c. 

So I parodied it as follows." Miss Baillie 
ultimately became Mrs. Gumming of Logie, 
and died in Edinburg in 1843. 

Oh, saw ye bonny Lesley 
As she gaed o'er the Border ? 

She's gane like Alexander, 

To spread her conquests farther. 

To see her is to love her, 

And love but her forever; 
For Nature made her what she is 

And never made anither 1 



SONGS. 



235 



Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects we, before thee; 

Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The deil he couldna skaith' thee. 
Nor aught that wad belang thee; 

He'd look into thy bonny face. 
And say, " I canna wrang thee." 

The powers aboon will tent^ thee; 

Misfortune sha' na steer thee: 
Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely, 

That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 

fieturn again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie ! 
That we may brag we liae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonny. 



CRAIGIE-EURN WOOD. 

The poet composed the following^ song to aid 
the eloquence of a Mr. Gillespie, a friend of 
his, who was paying his addresses to a Miss 
Lorimer, a young lady who resided at a 
beautiful place on the banks of the Moffat, 
called Craigie-burn Wood. 

Sweet closes the evening on Cragie- 

burn Wood, 

And blithely awaukens the morrow; 

But the pride of the spring in the 

Craigie-burn Wood 

Can yield to me nothing but sorrow. 

Beyond thee, dearie, beyond thee, 
dearie. 
And oh ! to be lying beyond thee ; 
Oh, sweetly, souudly, weel may he 
sleep 
That's laid in the bed beyond 
thee! 

I see the spreading leaves and flowers, 
I hear the wild birds singing; 

But pleasure they hae nane for me, 
While care my heart is wringing. 

f canna tell, I maunna tell, 

I darena for your anger; 
But secret love" will break my heart, 

If I conceal it lanarer. 



1 Harm. 2 Guard. 



I see thee gracefu', straight, and tall; 

I see thee sweet and bonny; 
But oh, what will my torments be, 

If thou refuse thy Johnnie 1 

To see thee in anither's arms. 
In love to lie and languish, 

'Twad be my dead, ^ that will be seen, 
My heart wad burst wi' anguish. 

But, Jeanie, say thou wilt be mine. 
Say thou lo'es nane before me; 

And a' my days o' life to come 
I'll gratefully adore thee. 



SECOND VEKSION. 

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigie-bum, 
And blithe awakes the morrow; 

But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nought but sorrow. 

I see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild birds singing; 

But what a weary wight can please. 
And care his bosom wringing ? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart. 
Yet darena for your anger; 

But secret love will break my heart, 
If I conceal it langer. 

If thou refuse to pity me, 

If thou shalt love anither. 
When yon green leaves fade frae tlie 
tree. 

Around my grave they'll wither. 



FRAE THE FRIENDS AND LAND 
I LOVE. 

Air — " Carron Side." 

In his notes to the Museum, the poet says of 
this song : — " I added the last four lines by 
way of giving a turn to the theme of the 
poem — such as it is.'' The entire song, 
however, was in his own handwriting, and 
is generally thought to be his own composi- 
tion, as the other twelve lines have not been 
found in any collection. 

Frae the friends and land I love. 
Driven by Fortune's felly* spits. 



i DeaUi. 



2 Relentless, 



BURNS' WOEKS. 



Frae my best-beloved I rove. 
Never mair to taste delight; 

Never mair maun hope to find 
Ease frae toil, relief frae care: 

When remembrance wracks the mind, 
Pleasures but unveil despair. 

Brightest climes shall mirk appear. 

Desert ilka blooming shore. 
Till the Fates, nae mair severe. 

Friendship, Love, and Peace restore; 
Till Revenge, wi' laurell'd head. 

Bring our banish'd name again; 
And ilka loyal bonny lad 

Cross the seas and win his ain. 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

Tune -" My Tocher's the Jewel." 

Oh meikle thinks my luve o' my 

beauty, [kin; 

And meikle thinks my luve o' my 

But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie' 

My tocher's''^ the jewel has charms 

for him. [tree; 

It's a' for the apple he'll nourish the 

It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the 

bee; [siller 

My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the 

He canna hae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny,^ 

My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy; 
But an ye be crafty I am cunnin', [try. 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun 

Ye're like to the timnier* o' yon rotten 

wood, . [tree, 

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten 
Ye'll slip frae me like a knotless thread, 

And ye'll crack^ your credit wi' mae*" 
nor me. 



V/HAT CAN A YOUNG LASSIE DO ? 

Tune — " What can a young- lassie do wi' an 
auld man? 

What can a young lassie, what shall 

a young lassie, [auld man ? 

What can a young lassie do wi' an 



1 Know well. 2 Dowrv. ^ Monev fjiven as 
earnest of a bargain. * Timber. ' "Injure. 
« More. 



Bad luck on the penny that tempted 
my minnie' [and Ian!' 

To sell her poor Jenny for siller 
Bad luck on the penny, &c. 

He's always compleenin' frae mornin' 

to e'enin', [day lang; 

He hoasts''' and he hirples" the weary 

He's doyl't* and he'sdozen^ his bluid it 

is frozen, [man ! 

Oh, dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld 

He's doyl't and he's dozen, &c. 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and 

he cankers, [I can; 

I never can please him do a' that 

He's peevish and jealous of a' the 

young fellows: [auld man ! 

Oh, dooP on the day I met wi' au 

He's peevish and jealous, &c. 

My auld Auntie Katie upon me taks 

pity, [plan ! 

I'll do my endeavour to follow her 

I'll cross him, and wrack him , until 1 

heart-break him. 

And then his auld brass will buy 

me a new pan. [&c. 

I'll cross him, and wrack him. 



OH, HOW CAN I BE BLITHE AND 
GLAD? 

Tune — " Owre the hills and far awa'." 

Oh, how can I be blithe and glad, ! 

Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 
When the bonny lad that I lo'e best 

Is o'er the hills and far awa'? 
When the bonny lad that I lo'e best 

Is o'er the hills and far awa'? 

It's no the frosty winter wind. 
It's no the driving drift and snaw; 

But aye the tear comes in my ee. 
To think on him that's far awa'. 

But aye the tear comes in my ee. 
To think on him that's far awa'. 

My father pat me frae his door, 

My friends they hae disown'd me a'. 

But I hae ane will tak my part. 
The bonny lad that's far awa'. 



1 Mother. 2 Coughs. ^ Limps. * Crazed. 
6 Benumbed. « Woe. 



SONGS. 



237 



But I hae ane will tak my part. 
The bonny lad that's far awa'. 

A pair o' gloves he bought for me, 
And silken snoods* he gae me twa; 

And I will wear them for his sake, — 
The bonny lad that's far awa'. 

And I ■nail wear them for his sake, — 
The bonny lad that's far awa'. 

Oh, weary winter soon will pass, 
And spring will deed the birken- 
shaw;^ 

And my young baby will be born. 
And he'll be hame that's far awa'. 

And my young baby will be born. 
And he'll be hame that's far awa'. 



I DO CONFESS THOU ART SAE 
FAIR. 

Tune — " I do confess thou art sae fair." 

This song was altered by the poet into Scotch, 
from a poem by Sir Robert Ay ton, private 
secretary to Anne, consort of James VI. 
" I think," says Burns, " that I have im- 
proved the simpHcity of the sentiments by 
giving them a Scots dress." * 



1 Birch-wood. 
* See p. —twie. 

* The following are the old words : — 

" I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair. 

And I might have gone near to love thee; 

Had I not found the slightest prayer 
That lips could speak had power to move 

But I can let thee now alone, [thee. 

As worthy to be loved by none. 

" I do confess thou'rt sweet ; yet find 
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 
Thy favours are but like the wind, 

That kisseth everything it meets ; 
And since thou canst with more than one, 
Thou'rt worthy to be kissed by none. 

"The morning rose, that untouch'd stands, 
Arm'd with her briers, how sweetly 
smells ! [hands, 

But, pluck'd and strain'd through ruder 

Her sweet no longer with her dwells. 
But scent and beauty both are gone, 
And leaves fall from her, one by one. 

" Such fate, ere long, will thee betide. 
When thou hast handled been a while, 
Like sun-fiowers to be thrown aside. 

And I shall sigh while some will smile, 
To see thy love for more than one 
Hath brought thee to be loved by none," 



I DO confess tnou art sae fair. 

I wud been owr,= the lugs' in luve, 
Had I na found the slightest prayer 

That lips could speak thy heart could 
move. 
I do confess thee sweet, but find 

Thou art sae thriftless o' thy sweets, 
Thy favours are the silly wind. 

That kisses ilka thing it meets. 

See yonder rosebud, rich in dew, 

Amang its native briers sae coy; 
How sune it tines'^ its scent and hue 

When pu'd and worn a common toy! 
Sic fate, ere lang, shall thee betide. 

Though thou may gayly bloom a 
while; 
Yet sune thou shalt be throAvn aside 

Like ony common weed and vile. 



YON WILD MOSSY MOUNTAINS 

Tune — " Yon wild mossy mountains." 

" This song," says the poet, " alludes to a 
part of my private history which it is of no 
consequence to the world to know." 

Yon wild mossy mountains sae lofty 

and wide, [the Clyde, 

That nurse in their bosom the youth o' 
Where the grouse lead their coveys 

through the heather to feed, 
And the shepherd tends his flock as ha 

pipes on his reed. 
Where the grouse lead their coveys 

through the heather to feed, 
And the shepherd tends his flock as 

he pipes on his reed. 

Not Gowrie's rich valleys, nor Forth's 

sunny shores, [moors; 

To me hae the charms o' yon wild mossy 

For there, by a lanely, sequester'd 

clear stream, [my dream. 

Resides a sweet lassie, my tliought and 

For there, by a lanely, sequester'd 

clear stream, [and my dream. 

Resides a sweet lassie, my thought 

Amang thae wild mountains shall still 
be my path, [narrow strath; 

Ilk stream foaming down its ain greea 

For there, wi' my lassie, the day-lang 
I rove, [hours o' love. 

Wliile o'er us unheeded, flee the swift 



» Ears. 



" Loses. 



238 



BURNS' WOEKS. 



For tliere, wi' my lassie, the day-lang 

I rove, 
While o'er us, unheeded, flee the 

swift hours o' love. 

She is not the fairest, although she is 

fair; 

O' nice education but sma' is her share; 

Her parentage humble as humble can 

be; [lo'esme. 

But I lo'e the dear lassie because she 

Her parentage humble as humble 

can be, [she lo'es me. 

But I lo'e the dear lassie, because 

To beauty what man but maun yield 

him a prize, [and sighs ? 

In her armour of glances, and blushes, 

And when wit and refinement hae pol- 

ish'd her darts, [hearts. 

They dazzle our een as they fly to our 

And when wit and refinement hae 

polish'd her darts, [our hearts. 

They dazzle our een as they fly to 

But kindness, sweet kindness, in the 
fond sparkling ee, [me; 

Has lustre outshining the diamond to 

And the heart-beating love, as I'm 
clasp'd in her arms, [charms ! 

Oh, these are my lassie's all-conquering 
And the heart-beating love, as I'm 

clasped in her arms, 
Oh, these are my lassie's all-conquer- 
ing charms ! 



OH FOR ANE-AND-TWENTY, 
TAM! 

Tune — " The Moudiewort." 
And oh for ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 
And hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, 
Tam ! 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang. 
An I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

They snool' me sair, and hand me 

down. 

And gar me look like bluntie,^ Tam; 

But three short years will soon wVieel 

roun' — [Tam. 

And then comes ane-and-twenty, 



* Curb. ^ A simpleton. 



A gleib o' Ian ^ a claut o' gear,* 
Was left me by my auntie, Tam.; 

At kith or kin I needna spier, ^ 
An I saw ane-and-twenty, 'Tam. 

The'll hae me wed a wealthy coof.' 
Though I mysel hae plenty, Tam; 

But hear'st thou, laddie — there's my 
loof— 
I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam. 



BESS AND HER SPINNING- 
WHEEL. 

Tune—" The sweet lass that lo'es me." 
Oh, leeze me on my spinning-wheel. 
And leeze me on my rock and reel; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien,' 
And haps- me fieF and warm at e'en ! 
I'll set me downand sing and spm. 
While laigh descends the simmer sun. 
Blest v/i' content, and milk and meal— . 
Oh, leeze me on my spinning-wheel 1 

On ilka hand the burnies trot,* 
And meet below my theekit cot; 
The scented birk and hawthorn white, 
Across the pool their arms unite. 
Alike to screen the birdies' nest. 
And little fishes' caller^ rest; 
The sun blinks kindly in the beil,® 
Where blithe I turn my spinning, 
wheel. 

On lofty aiks the cushats'' wail. 
And echo cons the doolfu'^ tale; 
The lintwhites in the hazel braes. 
Delighted, rival ither's lays; 
The craik* amang the clover hay. 
The paitrick whirrin' o'er the ley. 
The swallow jinkin' round my shiel,** 
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel. 

Wi' sma' to sell and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy. 
Oh, wha wad leave this humble state, 
For a' the pride of a' the great ? 
Amid their flaring, idle toys. 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys. 
Can they the peace and pleasure feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning wheel ? 



^ A portion of ground. * A sum of money. 
6 Ask. 6 Fool. ■< Hand. 

' Comfortably. * Wraps. » Soft. ♦ Run. 
^ Cool. "^Sheltered place. ^ Wood-pigeoQ. 
8 Woeful. » Landrail. >o Cottage. 



SONGS. 



339 



NITHSDALE'S WELCOME HAME. 

This song was written to celebrate the return 
to Scotland of Lady Winifred Maxwell, a 
descendant of the attainted Earl of Niths- 
dale. The music to which the poet com- 

Eosed the verses was by Captain Riddel of 
rienriddel. 

The noble Maxwells and their powers 

Are comiug o'er the Border, 
And they'll gae big Terregle's towers, 

And set them a' in order. 
And they declare Terregle's fair. 

For their abode they choose it; 
There's no a heart in a' the land 

But's lighter at the news o't. 

Though stars in skies may disappear, 

And angry tempests gather; 
The happy hour may soon be near 

That brings us pleasant weather 
The weary night o' care and grief 

May haea jo}'fu' morrow; 
So dawning day has brought relief — 

Faxeweelour night o' sorrow I 



COUNTRIE LASSIE. 
Tune—" The Country Lass." 

In simmer, when the hay was mawn. 

And corn waved green in ilka field. 
While clover blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blawin ilka bield;^ 
Blithe Bessie in the milliiug shiel,^ 

Says, "I'll be wed, come o't what 
will:" 
Out spalv a dame in wrinkled eild^ — 

" O' guid advisement comes na ill. 

" It's ye hae wooers mony ane. 

And, lassie, ye're but young, ye ken; 
Tlten wait a wee, and cannie wale,* 

A routhie butt, a routhie ben :^ 
There's Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen, 

Fu' is his barn, f u' is his byre ; 
Tak this frae me, my bonny hen, 

It's plenty beats the luver's fire." 

" For Johnnie o' the Buskie Glen, 

I dinna care a single flie; 
He lo'es sae weel his craps and kye. 

He has nae luve to spare for me: 



' Sheltered place. ^ Shed. ^ Age. 
choose. * A home with plenty in it. 



Wisely 



But blithe's the blink o' Robbie's ee. 
And weel I wat he lo'es me dear: 

Ae blink o' him I wadna gie 
For Buskie Glen and a' his gear." 

"Oh, thoughtless lassie, life's a 
f aught ;^ 
The canniest gate,' the strife is sair: 
But ay f u'-hant is f echtin' best, 
A hungry care's an unco care: 
But some will spend, and some will 
spare. 
And wilfu' folk maun hae their will; 
Syne^ as ye brew, my maiden fair. 
Keep mind that ye maun drink the 
yill." 

"Oh, gear will buy me rigs o' land. 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye; 
But the tender heart o' leesome'' luve 

Tbe gowd and siller canna buy; 
We may be poor — Robbie and I, 

Light is the burden luve lays on ; 
Content and luve bring peace and joy — ■ 

What mair hae queens upon a 
throne ?" 



FAIR ELIZA. 

Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kind blink before we part. 
Rue on thy despairing lover! 

Canst thou breali his f aithf u' heart 1 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza; 

If to love thy heart denies. 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise! 

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended ? 

The offence is loving thee: 
Canst thou wreck his peace forever 

"Wlia for thine wad gladly die ? 
While the life beats in my bosom, 

Thou shalt mix in ilka throe; 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 

Not the bee upon the blossom. 
In the pride o' sunny noon; 

Not the little sporting fairy. 
All beneath the simmer moon: 



' Struggle. ' Easiest way. ' And. 
some. 



9 Glad 



240 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Not the poet, in the moment 

Fancy lightens in his ee, 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, 

That thy presence gies to me. 



OH, LUVE WILL VENTURE IN. 

Tune— "The Posie." 

Oh, luve will venture in 

Where it daurna weel be seen; 
Oh, love will venture in 

-Where wisdom ance has been; 
But I will down yon river rove, 

Amang the woods sae green — 
And a' to pu' a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

The primrose I will pu'. 

The firstling of the year; 
And I will pa' the pink. 

The emblem o' my dear; 
For she's the pink o' womankind, 

And blooms without a peer — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

I'll pu' the budding rose, 

When Phoebus peeps in view, 
For it's like a baumy kiss 

O' her sweet, bonny mou'; 
The hyacinth's for constancy, 

Wi' its unchanging blue — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

The lily it is pure, 

And the lily it is fair. 
And in her lovely bosom 

I'll place the lily there; 
The daisy's for simplicity, 

And unaffected air — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

The hawthorn I will pu', 

Wi' its locks o' siller gray. 
Where, like an aged man. 

It stands at break of day. [bush 
But the songster's nest within the 

I winna tak away — 
And a' to be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 

The woodbine I will pu'. 
When the evening star is near. 



And the diamond draps o' dew 
Shall be her een sae clear ; 

The violet's for modesty. 
Which weel she fa's to wear— 

And a' to be a posie 
To my ain dear May. 

I'll tie the posie round 

Wi' the silken band of love. 
And I'll place it in her breast, 

And I'll swear by a' above. 
That to my latest draught o' life 

The band shall ne'er remove — 
And this will be a posie 

To my ain dear May. 



THE BANKS 0' DOON. 

Tune — '• Caledonian Hunt's Delight." 

This is a second version of the song which 
the poet composed in 1787 : and although 
greatly inferior in many respects to the first, 
it has almost entirely superseded it. For 
the subject of the song, see the first version, 
p. 203. 

Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon, 

How can ye bloom sae fresh and 
fair ; 
How can ye chant, ye little birds. 

And I sae weary, fu' o' care I 
Thou'U break my heart, thou warbling 
bird, [thorn : 

That wantons through the lowering 
Thou minds me o' departed joys. 

Departed — never to return ! 

Oft hae I roved by bonny Doon, 

To see the rose and woodbine twine; 
And ilka bird sang o' its luve. 

And fondly sae did I o' miine. 
Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 

Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree ; 
And my fause luver stole my rose, 

But, ah ! he left the thorn wi' me. 



SIC A WIFE AS WILLIE HAD. 

Tune—" The Eight Men of Moidart." 
W^iLLiE Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 

The spot they ca'd it Linkum-doddie; 
Willie was a wabstei^^ guid. 

Could stown^ a clue wi' ony bodie; 
He had a wife was dour and din, 

Oh, Tinkler Madgie was her mither; 



1 Weaver. - Stolen. 



SONGS. 



341 



Sic a wife as Willie liad, 
I wadna gie a button for lier. 

Slie lias an ee — she lias but ane, 

Tlie cat bas twa the very colour; 
Five rusty teeth, forbye^ a stump, 

A clapper-tongue wad deave a niiiler; 
A whiskin' beard about her mou', 

Her nose and chin they threaten 
ither — 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wadna gie a button for her. 

She's bow-hough'd, she's hein-shinn'd, 

Ae limpin' leg, a hand-breed shorter; 
She's twisted right, she's twisted left, 

To balance fair in ilka quarter : 
She has a hump upon her breast. 

The twin o' that upon her shouther — 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wadna gie a button for her. 

Auld baudrons* by the ingle^ sits. 

And wi' her loof' her face a-washin'; 
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,'' 

She. dights her grunzie** wi, a hush- 
ion;^ 
Her walie nieves^" like midden-creels, 

Her face wad fyle the Logan Water — 
Sic a wife as Willie had, 

I wadna gie a button for her. 



SMILING SPRUNG COMES IN 
REJOICING. 

Tune—" The Bonny Bell.' 

The smiling Spring comes in rejoicing, 

And surly Winter grimly flies; 
Now crystal clear are the falling wa- 
ters, 

And bonny blue are the sunny skies; 
Fresh o'er the mountains breaks forth 
the morning, 

The evening gilds the ocean's swell; 
All creatures joy in the sun's returning. 

And I rejoice in my bonny Bell. 

The flowery Spring leads sunny Sum- 
mer, 

And yellow Autumn presses near. 
Then in his turn comes gloomy Winter, 

Till smiling Spring again appear. 

3 Besides. * The Cat.s Fire. « Palm. ^ Clean. 
8 Mouth. ^ An old stocking. ^° Ample lists. 



Thus seasons dancing, life advancing, 
Old Time and Nature their changes 
tell, 

But never ranging, still unchanging, 
1 adore my bonny Bell. 

THE GALLANT WEAVER. 

Tune — " The Weavers' March." 
Where Cart* rins rowin' to the sea, 
By mony a flower and spreading tree, 
Their lives a lad, the lad for me. 

He is a gallant weaver. 
Oh, I had wooers aught or nine. 
They gied me rings and ribbons fine; 
And I was fear'd my heart would tine,' 

And I gied it to the weaver. 

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band,^ 
To gie the lad that has the land. 
But to my heart I'll add my hand. 

And gie it to the weaver. 
While birds rejoice in leafy bowers; 
While bees delight in opening flowers; 
While corn grows green in summer 
showers, 

I'll love my gallant weaver. 



SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. 
Tune — " She's Fair and Fause." 
She's fair and fause that causes my 
smart, 
I lo'ed her meikle and lang; 
She's broken her vow, she's broken my 
heart. 
And I may e'en gae hang. 
A coof ' cam wi' routh o' gear,^ 
And I hae tint^ my dearest dear; 
But woman is but warld's gear, 
Sae let the bonny lassie gang. 

Whae'er ye be that woman love. 

To this be never blind, 
Nae f erlie'* 'tis, though fickle she prove, 

A woman has't by kind, 
O woman, lovely woman fair! 
An angel form's fa'n to thy share: 
'Twad been o'er meikle to gien^ thee 
mair — 

I mean an angel mind. 



•i 1-056. ^ Marriage-deed. 

1 Fool. 2 Abundance of wealth. ^ Lost. 
* Wonder. * Have given. 

* The Cart is a river in Renfrewshire, 
which runs through the town of Paisley, cele- 
brated for the labours of the loom. i 



S42 



BURNS' WORKS. 



MY AIN KIND DEARIE, 0. 

Tune—" The Lea-Rig." 
When o'er the hill the eastern star 

Tells bughtin-tinie- is near, my jo; 
And owsen frae the furrow'd field 

Return sae dowf^ and weary, 0; 
Down by the burn, where scented 
birks* 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig,'* 

My ain kind dearie, ! 

In mirkest^ glen, at midnight hour, 

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie,^ O; 
If through that glen I gaed to thee. 

My ain kind dearie, O ! 
Although the night were ne'er sae wild, 

And I were ne'er sae wearie, O, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, 0! 

The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my jo; 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen. 

Along the burn to steer, my jo; 
Gie me the hour o' gloamin' gray. 

It maks my heart sae cheery, O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, ! 



The war Id's wrack we share o't, 
The warstle and the care o't; 
Wi' her I'll blithely bear it. 
And think my lot divine. 



MY WIFE'S A WINSOME WEE 

THING. 

The following lively lines, the poet tells us, 
were written extempore to the old air of 
" My Wife's a Wanton Wee Thing : — 

She is a winsome wee thing. 
She is a handsome wee thing. 
She is a bonny wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 

I never saw a fairer, 
I never lo'ed a dearer; 
And neist my heart I'll wear her. 
For fear my jewel tine.^ 

She is a winsome wee thing, 
She is a handsome wee thing, 
She is a bonny wee thing. 
This sweet wee wife o' mine. 



* Folding-time. - Dull. ^ Birches. 

* Grassy ridge. ^ Darkest. ^ Frightened, 

1 Be lost. 



HIGHLAND MARY. 

Tune— " Kathrioe Ogie." 
This is another of those glorious lyrics inspir- 
ed by the poet's passion for Highland Mary • 
and which celebrates, in strains worthy oi 
the occasion, their last interview, and her 
untimely and lamented death. " The follow- 
ing song," he says, in a letter to Thomson, 
enclosing the verses, " pleases me : I think 
it is in my happiest manner. The subject of 
the song is one of the most interesting pas- 
sages of my youthful days ; and I own that 
I should be much flattered to see the verses 
set to an air which would insure celebrity. 
Perhaps, after all, it is the still glowing 
prejudice of my heart that throws a borrow- 
ed lustre over the merits of the composi- 
tion." See p. 219. for an account of Mary. 

Ye banks, and braes, and streams 
around 

The castle o' Montgomery, [flowers. 
Green be your woods, and fair your 

Your waters never drumlie l^ 
There simmer first unfaulds her robes, 

And there the langest tarry; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

0' my sweet Highland Mary. 

How sweetly bloom'd the gay green 
birk !^ 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom ! 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasped her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings. 

Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
For dear to me, as light and life. 

Was my sweet Highland Mary ! 

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, 

Our parting was fu' tender; 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore oursels asunder; 
But, oh ! fell Death's untimely frost, 

That nipt my flower sae early ! — 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the 
clay. 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly ! 
And closed for aye the sparkling 
glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 



1 Muddy, 2 Birch. 



SOXGS. 



S43 



And mouldering now in silent dust 
That heart that lo'ed me dearly — 

But still within mj bosom's core 
Shall live my Highland Mary ! 



AULD BOB MORRIS. 

The two first lines of the following song were 
taken from an old ballad— the rest is the 
poet's: — 

There's auld Rob Morris that wens' 

in yon glen, 
He's the king o' guid fellows and 

wale"^ of auld men; 
He has gowd in his coffers, he has 

owsen and kine, [mine. 

And ae bonny lassie, his darling and 

She's fresh as the morning the fairest 
in May; [new hay; 

She's sweet as the evening amang the 

As blitlie and as artless as lambs on 
the lea, [my ee. 

And dear to my heart as the light to 

But oh ! she's an heiress — auld Robin's 
a laird, [house and yard; 

And my daddie has nought but a cot- 

A wooer like me maunna hope to come 
speed; [be my dead. ^ 

The wounds I must hide that will soon 

The day comes to me, but delight 
brings me nane; [itisgane; 

The night comes to me, but my rest 

I wander my lane like a night-troubled 
ghaist, [my breast. 

And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in 

Oh, had she but been of a lower degree, 
I then might hae hoped she'd hae 

smiled upon me ! [my bliss, 

Oh. how past descriving* had then been 
As now my distraction no words can 

express ! 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

This song was written on the model and to 
ihe tune of a coarse old ditty in Johnson's 
Museum^ the name of the hero, and a line or 
two, being all that was retained. 

Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 
Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



^ Dwells. 2 Choice. ^ Death. * Describing. 



On blithe yule night when we were fou, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
Look'd asklent and unco skeigh,* 
Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh;* 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan fleech'd,^ and Duncan pray'd. 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't: 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig,* 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 
Duncan sigli'd baith out and in, 
Grat* his een baith bleert and blin', 
Spak o' lowpin' o'er a linn; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Tune and chance are but a tide; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; 
Slighted love is sair to bide; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Shall 1, lilce a fool, quoth he. 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may gae to — France for me ,• 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

How it comes let doctors tell; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; 
Meg grew sick as he grew heal; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Something in her bosom wrings, 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And oh, her een, they spak sic things! 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't; 
Maggie's was a piteous case ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 
Duncan couldna be her death. 
Swelling pity smoor'd^ his wrath; 
Now they're crouse and canty* baith; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't. 



COCK UP YOUR BEAVER. 

Tune — " Cock up your beaver." 

The second stanza only of this song is Burns' 
— the first is old. 

When first my brave Johnnie lad 

Came to this town. 
He had a blue bonnet 

That wanted the crown ; 

1 Disdainful. 2 Aloof. 3 Flattered. ■* Wept. 
^ Smothered. ^ Cheerful and happy. 

* A well-known rocky islet in the Frith of 
Clyde. 



244 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But now lie lias gotten 
A hat and a feather, — 

Hey, brave Johnnie lad, 
Cock up your beaver I 

Cock up your beaver, 

And cock it f u' sprush. 
We'll over the Border 

And gie them a brush ; 
There's somebody there 

We'll teach them behaviour- 
Hey, brave Johnnie lad. 

Cock up your beaver ! 



BONNY PEG. 
As I came in by our gate end. 

As day vras waxin' vs^eary, 
Oh, vs^lia came tripping down the street. 

But bonny Peg, my dearie 1 

Her air sae sweet, and shape complete, 
Wi' nae proportion wanting. 

The Queen of Love did never move 
Wi' a motion mair enchanting, 

Wi' linked hands, we took the sands 

Adown yon winding river; 
And, oh! that hour and broomy bower, 

Can 1 forget it ever ? 



THE TITHER MORN. 
To a Highland Air. 

The tither mom, 

When I forlorn, 
Aneath an aik sat moaning, 

I did na trow' 

I'd see my jo' 
Beside me gin the gloaming. 

But he sae trig^ 

Lap o'er the rig, 
And dawtingly* did cheer me, 

When I, what reck. 

Did least expec' 
To see my lad sae near me. 

His bonnet he, 

A thought ajee, 
Cock'd sprush when first he clasp'd me; 

And I, I wat,^ 

Wi' fainness grat,^ 
While in his grips he press'd me. 

Deil tak the war! 

I late and air 

J Think. ^ Dear. 3 Neat. * Lovingly. 
• Know. " Wept. 



Kae wish'd since Jock departed; 

But now as glad 

I'm wi' my lad 
As short syne broken-hearted. 

Fu' aft at e'en 

Wi' dancing keen. 
When a' were blithe and merry, 

I cared na by, 

Sae sad was I 
In absence o' my dearie. 

But, praise be blest. 

My mind's at rest, 
I'm happy wi' my Johnny ; 

At kirk and fair, 

I'se aye be there, 
Ana be as canty' s'' ony. 



THE DEUK'S DANG O'ER MY 
DADDIE, O. 

Tune — " The deuk's dang o'er my daddie." 

The bairns gat out wi' an unco shout. 

The deuk's' dang o'er mj daddie, 0! 
The fient may care, quo' the feirie'^ 
auld wife. 

He was but a paidlin^ body, ! 
He paidles out, and he paidles in. 

And he paidles late and early, O! 
Thae seven lang years I hae lien by 
his side, 

And he is but a fusionless^ carlie, 0! 

Oh, hand your tongue, my feirie auld 
wife; [O! 

Oh, baud your tongue now, Nansie, 
I've seen the day, and sae hae ye. 

Ye wadna been sae donsie,^ O! 
I've seen the day ye butter'd my brose, 

And cuddled'^ me late and early, O; 
But downa do's'' come o'er me now. 

And, oh! I feel it sairly, O! 



HAPPY FRIENDSHIP. 

Here around the ingle' bleezing, 
Wha sae happy and sae free; 

Though the northern wind blaws 
freezing, 
Frien'ship warms baitli you and me. 



' Happy. 
1 Duck. 2 Sturdy. ^ Wandering aimlessly 
about. * Sapless. ^ Pettish. ^ Fondled. 
' A phrase signifying the exhaustion of age. 

1 Fireside. 



SONGS. 



245 



CHORUS. 
Happy we are a' tliegitlier, 

Happy we'll be yin and a'; 
Time shall see us a' the blither, 

Ere we rise to gang awa'. 

See the miser o'er his treasure 

Gloating wi' a greedy ee! 
Can he feel the glow o' pleasure 
, That around us here we see ? 

Can the peer, in silk and ermine, 
C'a' his conscience half his own; 

His claes^ are spun and edged wi' ver- 
min, 
Though he stan' afore a throne! 

Thus, then, let us a' be tassing^ 
AS. our stoups o' gen' rous flame; 

And, while round the board 'tis pass- 
ing, 
Raise a sang in f rien'ship's name 

Frien'ship maks us a' mair happy, 
Frien'ship gies us a' delight; 

Frien'ship consecrates the drappie, 
Frien'ship brings us here to-night. 



OH, SAW YE MY DEARIE. 

Tune—" Eppie M'Nab." 
Oh, saw ye my dearie, my Eppie 

M'Nab ? [M'Nab ? 

Oh, saw ye my dearie, my Eppie 
She's down in the yard, she's kissin' 

the laird, [Rab. 

She winna come hame to her ain Jock 

Oh, come thy ways to me, my Eppie 
M'Nab! [M'Nab! 

Oh, come thy ways to me, my Eppie 

Whate'er thou hast done, be it late, be 
it soon, [Rab. 

Thou's welcome again to thy ain Jock 

What says she, my dearie, my Eppie 

M'Nab 1 [M'Nab ? 

What says. she, my dearie, my Eppie 

She lets thee to wit,' that she has thee 

forgot, [Rab. 

And forever disowns thee, her ain Jock 

Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie 

M'Nab ! 



2 Clothes. ' Tossing 

1 Know. 



Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Eppie 

M'Nab! 
As light as the air, as fause as thou's 

fair, [Rab. 

Thou's broken the heart o' thy ain Jack 



THE CARLE OF KELLYBURN 
BRAES. 

Tune — " Kellyburn Braes." 

There lived a carle' in Kellyburn 

braes, [thyme;) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

And he had a wife was the plague o' 

his days ; [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd and rue 

Ae day as the carle gaed^ up the lang 

glen, [thyme;) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny Avi' 

He met wi' the devil, says, " How do 

you fen ?^ [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd and rue 

" I've got a bad wife, sir: that's a' my 

complaint; [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

For, saving your presence, to her ye're 

a saint; [is in prime." 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

" It's neither your stot* nor your 

staig^ I shall crave, [thyme, ^ 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi 

But gie me your wife, man, for her I 

must have, [rue is in prime. " 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and 

"Oh! welcome, most kindly," the 

blithe carle said, [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

" But if ye can match her, ye're waur 

than ye're ca'd, [is in prime." 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

The devil has got the auld wife oh his 

back; [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

And, like a poor pedlar, he's carried 

his pack, [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

1 Man, "^ Went, ^ Live. ■» Bullock, » Colt. 



246 



BURNS' WORKS. 



He's carried her liame to his ain hallan- 

door, [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

Syne bade her gae in, for a bitch and 
a whore, [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither 'd, and rue 

Then straight he makes fifty, the pick 

o' his band, [thyme.) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

Turn out on her guard in the clap of a 

hand; [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

The carlin^ gaed through them like 

ony wud' bear, [thyme) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

Whae'er she gat hands on cam near 

her na mair; [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

A reekit* wee devil looks over the wa' ; 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

thyme,) [us a', 

' ' Oh, help, master, help ! or she'll ruin 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and 

rue is in prime." 

The devil he swore by the edge o' his 

knife; [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

He pitied the man that was tied to a 

wife; [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

The devil he swore by the kirk and the 

bell, [thjTiie,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

He was not in wedlock, thank Heaven, 

but in hell; [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

Then Satan has travell'd again with 

his pack; [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' 

And to her auld husband he's carried 

her back; [is in prime. 

And the thyme it is wither'd, and rue 

" I liae been a devil the feck o' my 

life; [thyme,) 

(Hey, and the rue groAVS bonny wi' 

But ne'er was in hell, till 1 met wi' a 

wife; [is in prime." 

Andthe thyme it is wither'd, and rue 



V Woman. '' Wild, » Smoked. » Most. 



YE JACOBITES BY NAME. 

Tune—" Ye Jacobites by Name." 

Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear, 
give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name, give an ear ; 
Ye Jacobites by name. 

Your fauts I will proclaim. 
Your doctrines I maun blame— 
You shall hear. 

What is right, and what is wrang, by 
the law, by the law. 
What is right, and what is wrang, 
by the law ! 
What is right, and what is wrang ? 
A short sword, and a lang, 
A weak arm and a Strang 
For to draw. 

What makes heroic strife famed afar, 
famed afar ? [afar ? 

What makes heroic strife famed 
What makes heroic strife ? 
To whet th' assassin's knife, 
Or hunt a parent's life 
Wi' bluidie war. 

Then let your schemes alone, in the 
state, in the state; [state ; 

Then let your schemes alone in the 
Then let your schemes alone. 
Adore the rising sun. 
And leave a man undone 
To his fate. 



AS I WAS A- WANDERING. 

Tune—" Rinn Meudial mo Mhealladh." 

As I was a- wandering ae midsummer 

e'enin': [king their game, 

The pipers and youngsters were ma- 

Amang them I spied my faithless fause 

lover, [dolour again. 

Which bled a' the wound o' my 

Weel, since he has left me, may 
pleasure gae wi' him; 
I may be distress'd, but I winna 
complain ; 
I'll flatter my fancy I may get 
anither. 
My heart it shall never be broken 
for ane. 



SONGS. 



247 



I couldna get sleeping till dawin^ for 

greeting,''' [and the rain: 

The tears trickled down like the hail 

Had I na got greeting, my heart wad a 

broken, [ingpain! 

For, oh! luve forsaken's a torment- 

Although he has left me for greed o' 

the siller, [win; 

I dinna envy him the gains he can 

I rather wad bear a' the lade o' my 

sorrow [to him. 

Than ever hae acted sae faithless 



THE SLAVE'S LAMENT. 

It was in sweet Senegal that my foes 
did me enthral, 
For the lands of Virginia, 0; 
Torn from that lovely shore, and must 
never see it more. 
And alas I am weary, weary, ! 

All on that charming coast is no bitter 
snow or frost. 
Like the lands of Virginia, O; 
There streams forever flow, and there 
flowers forever blow. 
And alas I am weary, weary, 0! 

The burden I must bear, while the 
cruel scourge I fear. 
In the lands of Virginia, O; 
And I think on friends most dear, with 
the bitter, bitter tear. 
And alas I am weary, weary, O! 



THE WEAEY FUND O' TOW. 

Tune — " The Weary Fund o' Tow." 
I BOUGHT my wife a stane o' lint' 

As guid as e'er did grow; 
And a' tl' at she has made o' that 

Is ae poor pund o' tow.^ 

The weary pund, the weary pund, 
The weary pund o' tow; 

I think my wife Avill end her life 
Before she spin her tow. 

There sat a bottle in a bole, 
Beyont the ingle low,^ 



1 Dawn. * Weeping. 
1 Flax. ^ Hemp or flax in a prepared state. 
' Flame of the fire. 



And aye she took the tit her souk,* 
To drouk" the stourie" tow. 

Quoth I, "For shame, ye dirty dame, 
Gae spin your tap o' tow ! " 

She took the rock, and wi' a knock 
She brak it o'er my pow. 

At last her feet — I sang to see 't — 
Gaed foremost o'er the knowe;'' 

And or I wad anither jad, 
I'll wallop in a tow.^ 



LADY MART ANN. 

Tune — " Craigton's Growing." 

Oh, Lady Mary Ann 

Looks o'er the castle wa', 
She saw three bonny boys 

Playing at the ba' ; 
The youngest he was 

The flower amang them a'— 
My bonny laddie's young. 

But he's growiu' yet. 

O father ! O father ! 

An ye think it fit. 
We'll send him a year 

To the college yet : 
We'll sew a green ribbon. 

Round about his hat. 
And that will let them ken 

He's to marry yet. 

Lady Mary Ann 

Was a flower i' the dew. 
Sweet was its smell. 

And bonny was its hue; 
And the langer it blossom'd 

The sweeter it grew; 
For the lily in the bud 

Will be bonnier yet. 

Young Charlie Cochrane 

Was the sprout of an aik; 
Bonny and bloomin' 

And straught was its make; 
The sun took delight 

To shine for its sake. 
And it will be the brag 

O' the forest yet. 

The simmer is gane 
When the leaves they were green, 



*S\vig. 5 Drench. 

' Swing in a rope. 



« Dusty. ' Hill. 



S48 



BURNS' WOEKS. 



And tlie days are awa' 

That we hae seen; 
But far better days 

I trust will come again. 
For my bonny laddie's young, 

But lie's growin' yet. 



OH, KENMURE'S ON AND AWA'. 

Tune — " Oh, Kenmure's on and awa', Willie." 

" This song," says Cunningham, " refers to 
the fortunes of the gallant Gordons of Ken- 
mure in the fatal ' Fifteen.' The Viscount 
left Galloway with two hundred horsemen 
well armed ; he joined the other lowland 
Jacobites — penetrated to Preston— repulsed, 
and at last yielded to, the attack of General 
Carpenter — and perished on the scaffold. 
He was a good as well as a brave man, and 
his fate was deeply lamented. The title has 
since been restored to the Gordon's line." 
Burns was, once at least, an invited guest 
at Kenmure Castle, near New Galloway. 

Oh, Kenmure's on and awa', Willie ! 

Oil, Kenmure's on and awa' ! 
And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord 

That ever Galloway saw. 

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie ! 

Success to Kenmure's band ; 
There's no a heart that fears a Whig 

That rides by Kenmure's hand. 

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, 
Willie ! 
Here's Kenmure's health in wine; 
There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's 
blude, 
Nor yet o' Gordon's line. 

Ob , Kenmure's lads are men, Willie ! 

Oh, Kenmure's lads are men ; 
Their hearts and swords are metal 
true — 

And that their faes shall ken. 

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie I 
They'll live or die wi' fame; 

But soon wi' sounding victorie 
May Kenmure's lord come hame I 

Here's him that's far awa', Willie I 
Here's him that's far awa' ! 

And here's the flower that I lo'e best — 
The rose that's like the snaw ! 



MY COLLIER LADDIE. 

Tune—" The Collier Laddie." 
" I do not know," says Burns, " a blither old 
song than this;" which he modified and 
altered, and then sent to the Museum. 

Oh, whare live ye, my bonny lass ? 

And tell me what they ca' ye ? 
My name, she says, is Mistress Jean, 
And 1 follow the Collier Laddie. 
My name, she says, is Mistress 

Jean, 
And I follow the Collier Laddie. 

Oh, see you not yon hills and dales. 

The sun shines on sae brawlie ! 
They a' are mine, and they shall be 
thine. 
Gin ye'U leave your Collier Laddie. 
They a' are mine, and they shall 

be thine. 
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 

And ye shall gang in gay attire, 

Weel buskit^ up sae gaudy; 
And ane to wait at every hand. 

Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 
And ane to wait at every hand. 
Gin ye'll leave your Collier Laddie. 

Though ye had a' the sun shines on. 

And the earth conceals sae lowly, 
I wad turn my back on you and it a', 
And embrace my Collier Laddie, [a', 
I wad turn my back on yoti and it 
And embrace my Collier Laddie. 

I can win my five pennies a day. 

And spen't at night fu' brawlie; 

And mak my bed in the Collier's neuk' 

And lie down vd' my Collier Laddie. 

And mak my bed in the Collier's 

neuk, [die. 

And lie down wi' my Collier Lad- 

Luve for luve is the bargain for me, 

Though the wee cot-house should 

haud nie; [bread. 

And the warld before me to win my 

And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 

And the warld before me to win 

my bread, 
And fair fa' my Collier Laddie. 



1 Dressed. 



«Hut. 



SONGS. 



240 



FAREWELL TO A' OUR SCOTTISH 

FAME. 

Tune—" Such a Parcel of Rogues in a 
Nation." 

" Burns," says Cunningham, " has expressed 
sentiments in this song which were once 
popular in the north." The poet himself, 
indeed, appears to have been in the habit of 
expressing his feelings pretty freely regard- 
ing the Union.—" What," he exclaimed, on 
one occasion, " are all the advantages which 
my country reaps from the Union that can 
counterbalance the annihilation of her inde- 
pendence, and even her very name ? Noth- 
ing can reconcile me to the terms, ' English 
Ambassador,' ' Eitglish Court,' " &c. 

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, 

Pareweel our ancient glory ! 
Fareweel even to the Scottish name, 

Sae famed in martial story ! 
Now Sark rins o'er the Solway sands, 

And Tweed rins to the ocean, 
To mark where England's province 
stands — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

What force or guile could not subdue. 

Through many warlike ages. 
Is wrought now by a coward few, 

For hireling traitors' wages. 
The English steel we could disdain. 

Secure in valour's station; 
But English gold has been our bane — 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation ! 

Oh, would, ere I had seen the day 

That treason thus could sell us. 
My auld gray head had lien in clay, 

Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace ! 
But pith and power, till my last hour, 

I'll mak this declaration; [gold — 
We're bought and sold for English 

Such a parcel of rogues in a nation. 



HERB'S A HEALTH TO THEM 
THAT'S AW^A'. 

Tune—" Here's a health to them that's awa'." 

The poet's political predilections at this period 
of his life being somewhat marked, and of 
an ultra-liberal tendency, he is supposed to 
have thrown them into the following song, 
composed in honour of the leaders of the 
liberal party in the House of Commons : — 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 
■Here's a health to them that's awa'; 



And wha winna wish guid luck to our 

cause, 
May never guid luck be their fa' ! 
It's guid to be merry and wise, 
It's guid to be honest and true. 
It's guid to support Caledonia's cause. 
And bide by the buff and the blue. 

Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
Here's a health to Charlie* the chief 

of the clan. 
Although that his band be but sma'. 
May Liberty meet wi' success ! 
May Prudence protect her frae evil ! 
May tyrants and tyranny tine in the 

mist, 
And wander their way to the devil ! 

Here's a health to them that's awa', 
Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
Here's a health to Tammie,f the Nor- 
land laddie. 
That lives at the lug o' the law ! 
Here's freedom to him that wad read, 
Here's freedom to him that wad write I 
There's nane ever fear'd that the truth 

should be heard 
But they wham the truth wad indite. ' 

Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
Here's a health to them that's awa', 
Here's Chieftain M'Leod,:}: a chieftain 

worth gowd, 
Though bred amang mountains o' snaw! 
Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
Here's a health to them that's awa'. 
And wha winna wish guid luck to our 

cause. 
May never guid luck be their fa' ! 



ONG. 



Tune—" I had a horse, I had nae mair." 
Oh, poortith^ cauld and restless love. 
Ye wreck my peace between ye; 

— — — — ■ — » 

1 Indict — impeach. 
2 Poverty. 

* The Right Hon. Charles James Fox. Buff 
and blue formed the livery of Fox during the 
celebrated Westminster elections, and thus 
came to be adopted as the colours of the 
Whig party generally. 

+ Thomas, afterwards Lord, Erskine. 

% M'Leod of Dunvegan, Isle of Skye, and 
then M. P. for Inverness, 



250 



EURXS' WORKS. 



Yet poortith a' I could forgive, 
An 'twere na for my Jeanie. 

Oh, why should Fate sic pleasure 
have. 

Life's dearest bands untwining ? 
Or why sae sweet a flower as love 

Depend on Fortune's shining ? 

This warld's wealth when I think on, 
Its pride and a' the lave o't — 

Fie, fie on silly coward man. 
That he should be the slave o't. 

Her een sae bonny blue betray 
How she repays my passion ; 

But prudence is her o'erword^ aye, 
She talks of rank and fashion. 

Oh, wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him ? 
Oh, wha can prudence think upon. 

And sae in love as I am ? 

How blest the humble cotter's fate I 
He wooes his simple dearie; 

The silly bogles, wealth and state, 
Can never make them eerie.* 



The bands and bliss o' mutual love. 
Oh, that's the chiefest warld's treas- 
ure! 



GALA WATER. 

There's braw, braw lads on Yarrow 
braes, [heather, 

That wander through the blooming 
But Yarrow braes' nor Ettrick sliaws'* 

Can match the lads o' Gala Water. 

But there is ane, a secret ane, 
Aboon them a' I lo'e him better; 

And I'll be his, and he'll be mine. 
The bonny lad o' Gala Water. 

Although his daddie was nae laird. 
And though I haena meikle tocher;^ 

Yet rich in kindest, truest love, 
We'll tent our flocks by Gala Water. 

It ne'er was wealth, it ne'er was wealth, 
That coft* contentment, peace, or 
pleasure; 



LORD GREGORY. 

This sonff was written in imitation of Dr. 
Wolcot s (Peter Pindar) ballad on the same 
subject,* of which Burns says, in a letter to 
Thomson, " Pindar's ' Lord Gregory ' is 
beautiful. I have tried to give you a Scots 
version, which is at your service. Not that 1 
intend to enter the lists with Peter— that 
would be presumption indeed ! My song 
though much mferior in poetic merit, has, I 
think, more of the ballad simplicity m it." 
The idea of both songs, however, is taken 
from an old strain. 

Oh, mirk,i mirk is this midnight hour. 
And loud the tempest's roar; 

A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower — 
Lord Gregory, ope thy door! 

An exile f rae her father's ha', 

And a' for loving thee; 
At least some pity on me shaw. 

If love it may na be. 

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the 
grove. 

By bonny Irwin-side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin love 

I lang, lang had denied ? 

How aften didst thou pledge and vow 

Thou wad for aye be mine; 
And my fond heart, itsel sae true. 

It ne'er mistrusted thine. 



3 Refrain. * Afraid. 
* Hills, 2 Woods. 3 Much money. * Bought. 



1 Dark. 

* The following is Wolcot's version : — 

" Ah, ope, Lord Gregory, thy door! 
A midnight wanderer sighs, 
Hard rush the rains, the tempests roar, 
And lightnings cleave the skies. 

Who comes with woe at this drear night— 

A pilgrim of the gloom ? 
If she whose love did once delight, 

My cot shall yield her room. 

" Alas ! thou heard 'st a pilgrim mourn 
That once was prized by thee ■, 
Think of the ring by yonder burn 
Thou gav'st to love and me. 

" But shouldst thou not poor Marian know, 
Pll turn my feet and part ; 
And think the storms that round me blow 
Far kinder than thy heart." 



SONGS. 



251 



Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast — 
Thou dart of heaven that flashest by. 

Oh, wilt thou give me rest"^ 

Ye mustering thunders from above. 

Your willing victim see ! 
But spare, and pardon my fause love 

His wrangs to Heaven and me! 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH ! 

" Oh, open the door, some pity to show, 
Oh, open the door to me, oh ! 

Though thou hast been false, I'll ever 
prove true. 
Oh, open the door to me, oh ! 

"Cauld is the blast upon my pale 
cheek. 
But caulder thy love for me, oh! 
The frost that freezes the life at my 
heart 
Is nought to my pains f rae thee, oh ! 

" The wan moon is setting behind the 
white wave. 
And time is setting with me, oh! 
False friends, false love, farewell! for 
mair 
I'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, oh!" 

She has open'd the door, shehasopen'd 

it wide; [oh! 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, 

" My true love !" she cried, and sank 

down by his side, 

Never to rise again, oh! 



YOUNG JESSIE. 

Tune — " Bonny Dundee." 

TRUE-hearted was he, the sad swain o' 

the Yarrow, [o' the Ayr, 

And fair are the maids on the banks 

But by the sweet side o' the Nith's 

winding river [fair: 

Are lovers as faithful and maidens as 

To equal young Jessie seek Scotland 

all over; [in vain; 

To equal young Jessie you seek it 

Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her 

lover, [chain. 

, And maidenly modesty fixes the 



Oh, fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy 
morning, [close; 

And sweet is the lily at evening 
But in the fair presence o' lovely young 
Jessie, [rose. 

Unseen is the lily, unheeded the 
Love sits in her smile, a wizard en- 
snaring; [his law: 
Enthroned in her een he delivers 
And still to her charms she alone is a 
stranger — [of a' ! 
Her modest demeanour's the jewel 



THE POOR AND HONEST 
SODGER. 

Air—" The Mill, Mill O !" 
When wild war's deadly blast was 
blawn. 

And gentle peace returning, 
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless, 

And mony a widow mourning; 
I left the lines and tented field. 

Where lang I'd been a lodger. 
My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 

A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal light heart was in my breast. 

My hand unstain'd wi' plunder. 
And for fair Scotia, hame again, 

I cheery on did wander. 
I thought upon the banks o* Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reach'd the bonny glen 

Where early life I sported ; 
I pass'd the mill, and trysting thorn. 

Where Nancy aft I courted: 
Wha spied' I but my ain dear maid, 

Down by her mother's dwelling! 
And turn'd me round to hide the flood 

That in my een was swelling. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quotli I, " Sweet 
lass, 

Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom. 
Oh ! happy, happy may he be, 

That's dearest to thy bosom ! 
My purse is light, I've far to gang. 

And fain wad be thy lodger; 
I've served my king and country lang — 

Take pity on a sodger." 

> Saw. 



253 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Sae wistfully slie gazed on me. 

And lovelier was than ever; 
Quo' she, ' ' A sodger ance I lo'ed. 

Forget him shall I never: 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare. 

Ye freely shall partake it. 
That gallant badge — the dear cockade — 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't." 

She gazed — she redden'd like a rose — 

Syne^ pale like ony lily; 
She sank within my arms, and cried, 

" Art thou my ain dear Willie ?" 
" By Him who made yon sun and sky. 

By whom true love's regarded, 
I am the man ; and thus may still 

True lovers be rewarded! 

" The wars are o'er, and I'm come 
hame. 

And find thee still true-hearted ; 
Though poor in gear, we're rich in 
love. 

And mair, we'se ne'er be parted. " 
Quo' she, ' ' My grandsire left me gowd, 

A mailen* plenish'd fairly. 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly!" 

For gold the merchant ploughs the 
main. 

The farmer ploughs the manor; 
But glory is the sodger's prize. 

The sodger's wealth is honour: 
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise. 

Nor count him as a stranger; 
Remember, he's his country's stay 

In day and hour of danger. 



MEG O' THE MILL. 

Air — " Hey ! bonny l?.ss, will you lie in a 
barrack?" 

Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has 
gotten ? [gotten ? 

Aod ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has 

She has gotten a coof ^ wi' a claut o' 
siller,^ [miller. 

And broken the heart o' the barley 

The miller was strappin', the miller 

was ruddy; [lady; 

A heart like a lord, and a hue like a 



2 Then. » Farm. 
* Lout. 2 Plenty of money. 



The laird was a widdiei'u', bleeriy 

knurl ;^ [churl.' 

She's left the guid-fellow and ta'en the 

The miller he hecht^ her a heart leal 
and loving; [mair moving, 

The laird did address her wi' matter 

A fine-pacing horse, wi' a clear-chain 'd 
bridle, [saddle. 

A whip by her side, and a bonny side- 

Oh, wae on the siller, it is sae prevail- 
ing; [mailen!^ 

And wae on the love that is fixed on a 

A tocher's" nae word in a true lover's 
parle, [warl'l 

But, gie me my love, and a fig for the 



WELCOME TO GENERAL 
DUMOURLER. 

Some one, in the presence of the poet, having: 
expressed joy at the desertion of GenerS 
Dumourier from the army of the French 
Republic, in 1793, after having gamed some 
splendid victories with it, in a few moments 
he chanted, almost extempore, the follow- 
ing verses to the tune of "Robin Adair :" — 

You're welcome to despots, Dumou- 
rier; [rier; 
You're welcome to despots, Dumou- 
How does Dampiere* do ? 
Ay, and Beurnonvillef too ? 
Why did they not come along with 
you, Diimourier? 

I will fight France with you, Dumou- 
rier; [rier; 
I will fight France with you, Dumou- 
I will fight France with you, 
I will take my chance with you; 
By my soul I'll dance a dance with you, 
Dumourier. 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 

Then let us fight about, Dumourier; 
Then let us fight about. 
Till Freedom's spark is out, 

Then we'll be damn'd, no doubt, Du- 
mourier. 



^ Ill-tempered, bleared dwarf. * Offered. 
* Farm. ^ Dowry. 

* One of Dumourier's generals, 
t An emissary of the ConvcBtion's. 



SONGS. 



253 



THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER 
THE MOOR. 

In this songf the poet is supposed to have 
given expression to certain leelings of illicit 
love which it is known he entertained for 
the beautiful and fascinating- Mrs. Riddel 
of Woodley Park. It is but just to remem- 
ber, however, and charitable to believe, 
that the poet, with an eye to artistic effect, 
may have purposely heightened his colours 
in order to increase the general effect of his 
picture. 

The last time I came o'er the moor. 

And left Maria's dAvelling, 
\^^lat throes, what tortures passing 
cure. 

Were in my bosom swelling: 
Condemned to see my rival's reign, 

While I in secret languish; 
To feel a fire m every vein. 

Yet dare not speak my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, despairing, I 
Fain, fain my crime would cover: 
The unweeting groan, the bursting 



Betray the guilty lover. 
I know my doom must be despair. 

Thou wilt nor canst relieve me; 
But, O Maria, hear my prayer. 

For pity's sake, forgive me ! 

The music of thy tongue I heard, 

Nor wist while it enslaved me; 
I saw thine eyes; yet nothing fear'd, 

Till fears no more had saved me. 
The unwary sailor thus aghast 

The wheeling torrent viewing, 
In circling horrors yields at last 

In overwhelming ruin ! 



BLITHE HAE I BEEN. 

Tune — " Liggeram Cosh." 
Blithe hae I been on yon hill. 

As the lambs before me; 
Careless ilka thought and free. 

As the breeze flew o'er me. 
Now nae langer sport and play, 

Mirth or sang can please me; 
Lesley is sae fair and coy. 

Care and anguish seize me. 

Heavy, heavy is the task. 
Hopeless love declaring; 



Trembling, I dow nocht but glower,' 
Sighing, dumb, despairing ! 

If she winna ease the thraws'^ 
In my bosom swelling; 

Underneath the grass-green sod. 
Soon maun be my dwelling. 



LOGAN BRAES. 

Tune—" Logan Water." 

The poet, in a letter to Thomson, enclosing 
this song, says, regarding its origin :~ 
" Have you ever, my dear sir, felt your 
bosom ready to burst with indignation on 
reading of those mighty villains who divide 
kingdom against kingdom, desolate prov- 
inces, and lay nations waste, out of the 
wantonness of ambition, or often from still 
more ignoble passions ? In a mood of this 
kind to-day, 1 recollected the air of ' Logan 
Water,' and it occurred to me that its quer- 
ulous melody probably had its origin from 
the plaintive indignation of some swelling, 
sufEering heart, iired at the tyrannic strides 
of some public destroyer ; and overwhelmed 
with private distress, the consequence of a 
country's ruin. If I have done anything at 
all like justice to my feelings, the following 
song, composed in three-quarters of an 
hour's meditation in my elbow-chair, ought 
to have some merit." The two last lines of 
the first stanza the poet took from a very 
pretty song to the same air, written by Mr. 
John Mayne, author of a poem entitled, 
'' The Siller Gun." 

Logan, sweetly didst thou glide 
That day I was my Willie's bride ! 
And years sinsyne hae o'er us run. 
Like Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy flowery banks appear 
Like drumlie' Winter, dark and drear. 
While my dear lad maun face his faes. 
Far, far f rae me and Logan braes ! 

Again the merry month o' May 
Has made our hills and valleys gay; 
The birds rejoice in leafy bowers, 
The bees hum round the breathing 

flowers : 
Blithe morning lifts his rosy eye. 
And evening's tears are tears of joy: 
My soul delightless, a' surveys, 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn 

bush, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush; 



1 Dare nought but stare. " Throes, 
} Clouded and rainy. 



254 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile: 
But I, wi' my sweet nurslmgs here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Oh, wae upon you, men o' state. 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate ! 
As ye make mony a fond heart mourn, 
Sae may it on your heads return ! 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry ? 
But soon may peace bring happy days 
And Willie hame to Logan braes ! 



THERE WAS A LASS, AND SHE 

WAS FAIR. 

Tune — " Bonny Jean." 

•I have just finished the following ballad," 
says the poet to Thomson, "■ and as I do 
think it is in my best style, I send it to 
you." 

Theke was a lass, and she was fair. 
At Idrk and market to be seen. 

When a' the fairest maids were met. 
The fairest maid was bonny Jean. 

And aye she wrought her mammie's 
wark. 

And aye sang sae merrilie: 
The blithest bird upon the bush 

Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little lintwhite's nest: 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers. 
And love will break the soundest 
rest. 

Young Robie was the brawest lad. 
The flower and pride of a' the glen : 

And he had owsen, sheep and kye. 
And wanton naigies' nine or ten. 

Be gaed wi' Jeanie to the tryste,** 
He danced wi' Jeanie on the down; 

And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist. 
Ser heart was tint,^ her peace was 
stown.* 

As in the bosom o' the stream, 
The moonbeam dwells at dewy e'en; 

1 Horses. » Fair. 3 Lost. * Stolen. 



So trembling, pure, was tender love 
Within the breast o' bonny Jean. 

And now she works her mammie'a 
wark. 

And aye she sighs wi' care and pain, 
Yet wist na what her ail might be, 

Or what wad make her weel again. 

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light. 
And did na joy blink in her ee, 

As Robie tauld a tale o' love 
Ae e'enin on the lily lea 1 

The sun was sinking in the west. 
The birds sang sweet in ilka grove; 

His cheek to hers he fondly prest. 
And whisper'd thus his tale o' love: — 

" Jeanie fair, I lo'e thee dear; 

Oh, canst thou think to fancy me ? 
Or wilt thou leave thy mammie's cot, 

And learn to tent* the farms wi' me 'l 

" At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge. 
Or naething else to trouble thee; 

But stray amang the heather-bells. 
And tent the waving corn wi' me." 

Now what could artless Jeanie do ? 

She had nae vnll to say him na : 
At length she blush'd a sweet consent, 

And love was aye between them twa. 



PHILLIS THE FAIR. 

Tune — " Robin Adair." 

While larks with little wing 

Fann'd the pure air, 
Tasting the breathing spring. 

Forth I did fare; 
Gay the sun's golden eye 
Peep'd o'er the mountains high; 
Such thy morn ! did I cry, 

Phillis the fair. 

In each bird's careless song 

Glad did I share; 
While yon wild flowers among. 

Chance led me there: 
Sweet to the opening day 
Rosebuds bent the dewy spray; 
Such thy bloom ! did I say, 

Phillis the fair. 



6 Mind. 



SONGS. 



955 



Down in a shady walk 
Doves cooing were: 

I mark'd the cruel hawk 
Caught in a snare; 

So kind may Fortune be, 

Such make his destiny ! 

He who would injure thee, 
Phmis the fair. 



HAD I A CAVE. 

Tune—" Robin Adair." * 

Mr. Alexander Cunningrham, a writer to the 
Signet in Edinburgh, and a warm friend of 
the poet's, had wooed and, as he thought, 
won, a young lady of great beauty atid ac- 
complishments ; but another lover having 
presented himself, with weightier claims to 
her regard than poor Cunningham pos- 
sessed, 

" The fickle, faithless queen, 
Took the carl, and left her Johnnie ;" 

and appears to have cast him off with as 
little ceremony as she would a piece of 
faded frippery. The poet, in the following 
lines, has endeavoured to express the feel- 
ings of his friend on the occasion . — 

Had I a cave on some wild, distant 
shore, [dashing roar; 

Where the winds howl to the waves' 
There would I weep my woes, 
There seek my last repose. 
Till grief my eyes should 
close. 
Ne'er to walie more. 

Falsest of womankind, canst thou de- 
clare [as air! 
All thy fond plighted vows fleeting 
To thy new lover hie, 
Laugh o'er thy perjury. 
Then in thy bosom try 
What peace is there ! 



BY ALLAN STREAM I CHANCED 
TO ROVE. 

Tune—" Allan Water." 

In a letter to Thomson, dated August, 1793, 
enclosing this song, the poet says : — " I 
walked out yesterday evening with a vol- 
ume of the Museum in my hand, when, 
turning up ' Allan Water,' as the words ap- 
peared to me rather unworthy of so fine an 
air, I sat and raved under the shade of an 
old thorn, till I wrote one to suit the meas- 
ure. I may be wrong, but I think it not in 



my worst style. Bravo ! say I ; it is a good 
song. Autumn is my propitious season. I 
malce more verses in it than all the year 
else." 

By Allan stream I chanced to rove, 

While Phoebus sank beyond Benledi; 
The winds were whispering through 
the grove. 

The yellow corn was waving ready: 
I listen'd to a lover's sang. 

And thought on youthfu' pleasures 
many; 
Aad aye the wild wood echoes rang — 

Oh, dearly do I love thee, Annie ! 

Oh, happy be the woodbine bower, 

Nae nightly bogle make it eerie;* 
Nor ever sorrow stain the hour. 

The place and time I met my dearie! 
Her head upon my throbbing breast. 

She, sinking, said, "I'm thine for 
ever !" 
Wliile mony a kiss the seal imprest, 

The sacred vow, — we ne'er should 
sever. 

The haunt o' Spring's the primrose 
brae, [low: 

The Simmer joys the flocks to fol- 
How cheery, through her shortening 
day. 
Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow ! 
But can they melt the glowing heart. 
Or chain the soul in speechless 
pleasure, [dart. 

Or through each nerve the rapture 
Like meeting her, our bosom's treas- 
ure? 



OH, WHISTLE, AND I'LL COME 

TO YOU, MY LAD. 

Tune—" Whistle, and I'll come to you, my 
lad." 

" The old air of ' Whistle, and I'll come to you, 
my Lad,' " says the poet to Thomson, " I 
admire very much, and yesterday I set the 
following verses to it :" — 

Oh, whistle and I'll come to you, my 
lad, [lad: 

Oh, whistle and I'll come to you, my 

Though father and mither and a' should 
gae mad, [lad. 

Oh, whistle, and I'll come to you, my 



Frifjhtsome. 



956 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But warily tent' when you come to 
court me, [a-jee* 

And come ua unless tlie back yett'' be 

Syne up the back stile, and let naebody 
see, 

And come as ye were na comin' to me. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye 
meet me, [na a flie; 

Gang by me as though that ye cared 

But steal me a blink o' your bonny 
black ee, 

Yet look as ye were na looking at me. 

Aye vow and protest that ye care na 
for me, [a wee; 

And whiles ye may lightly^ my beauty 

But court na anither, though jokin' ye 
be, [me. 

For fear that she wile your fancy f rae 



ADOWN WINDING NITH. 

Tune—" The Mucking o' Geordie's Byre." 

Adown winding Nith did I wander. 
To mark the sweet flowers as they 
spring; 

Adown winding Nith I did wander, 
Of Phillis to muse and to sing. 

Awa' wi' your belles and your beau- 
ties. 

They never wi' her can compare: 
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis, 

Has met wi' the queen o,' the fair. 

The daisy amused my fond fancy, 
So artless, so simple, so wild; 

Thou emblem, said I, o' my Phillis, 
For she is Simplicity's child. 

The rosebud's the blush o' my charmer, 
Her sweet balmy lij) when 'tisprest: 

How fair and how pure is the lily. 
But fairer and purer her breast ! 

Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, 
They ne'er wi' my Phillis can vie: 

Her breath is the breath o' the wood- 
bine, 
Its dew-drop o' diamond her eye. 



Her voice is the song of the morning, 

That wakes through the green- 

spreading grove, [tains. 

When Phoebus peeps over the moun- 
On music, and pleasure, and love. 

But beauty how frail and how fleeting. 
The bloom of a fine sunomer's day ! 

While worth in the mind o' my Phillis 
Will flourish without a decay. 



COMB, LET ME TAKE THEE, 

Air—" Cauld Kail." 

Come, let me take thee to my breast. 

And pledge we ne'er shall sunder; 
And I shall spurn as vilest dust 

The warld's wealth and grandeur: 
And do I hear my Jeanie own 

That equal transports move her ? 
I ask for dearest life alone, 

That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charms. 

I clasp my countless treasure ; 
I'll seek nae mair o' heaven to share 

Than sic a moment's pleasure: 
And by thy een, sae bonny blue, 

I swear I'm thine forever! 
And on thy lips I seal my vow. 

And break it shall I neverl 



I * Carefully heed. ^ Gate. ^ Disparage. 



DAINTY DAVIE. 

This is an improved version of a song whica 
the poet wrote some years before for tl.j 
Mtiseum, and which will be found at p. 222. 
The old song which furnished the air is said 
to have been composed on a somewhat 
indelicate incident that occurred in 
the life of the Rev. David Williamson, 
during the times of the Persecution in Scot- 
land. This worthy, it is affirmed, after 
having married seven wives, died minister 
of St. Cuthbert's, Edinburgh. 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
To deck her gay green- spreading bovv- 
ers; 
And now comes in my happy hours 
To wander wi' my Davie. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe. 
Dainty Davie, dainty Davie; 

There I'll spend the day wi' you. 
My aiu dear dainty Davie. 



SONGS. 



237 



The crystal waters round us fa'. 
The merry birds are lovers a'. 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A-\vandering wi' my Davie. 

When purple morning starts the hare, 
To steal upon her early fare. 
Then through the dews I will repair. 
To meet my faithf u' Davie. 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtain draws o' nature's rest, 
I flee to his arms I lo'e best, 
And that's my ain dear Davie. 



BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY 
AT BANNOCKBURN. 

Tune — " Hey, tuttie taitie." 

"There is a tradition," says the poet, in a 
letter to Thomson, enclosing this glorious 
ode, " that the old air, ' Hey, tutlie taitie,' 
was Robert Bruce's march at the battle of 
Bannockburn. This thought, in my sohtary 
wanderings, has warmed me to a pitch of 
enthusiasm on the theme of liberty and in- 
dependence which I have thrown into a 
kind of Scottish ode, fitted to the air, that 
one might suppose to be the gallant Scot's 
address to his heroic followers on that event- 
ful morning." This ode, says Professor 
Wilson — the grandest out of the Bible — is 
sublime I 

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has often led; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to Victory ! 

Now's the day, and now's the hour. 
See the front o' battle lour; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Chains and slavery! 

Wha will be a traitor knave ? 
Wlia can fill a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 
Let him turn and flee ! 

Wlia, for Scotland's king and law, 
Freedom's sword wall stronglv draw; 
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'', 
Let him follow me! 

By Oppression's woes and pains! 
By your sons in servile chains! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be freel 



Lay the proud usurpers low! 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow! — 
Let us do or die ! 



THOU HAST LEFT ME EVER 

Tune — " Fee him, father." 

The poet, in sending these verses to Thomson, 
says : — " I do not give them for any merit 
they have. I composed them about the 
' back o' midnight,' and by the leeside of a 
bowl of punch, which had overset every 
mortal in company except the Muse." 

Thou hast left me ever, Jamie! 

Thou hast left me ever; 
Thou hast left me ever, Jamie! 

Thou hast left me ever. 
Af ten hast thou vow'd that death 

Only should us sever; 
Now thou'st left thy lass for aye— 

I maun see the never, Jamie, 
I'll see the never! 

Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie I 

Thou hast me forsaken; 
Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie! 

Thou hast me forsaken. 
Thou canst love anither jo. 

While my heart is brealdng: 
Soon my weary een I'll close — 

Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
Ne'er mair to waken! 



FAIR JENNY. 

Tune — " Saw ye my father." 

Where are the joys I have met in tio 
morning, 
That danced to the lark's early song? 
Where is the peace that awaited my 
wandering. 
At evening the wild woods among ? 

No more a- winding the course of yon 

river, [fair; 

And marking sweet flowerets so 

No more I trace the light footsteps ci 

pleasure. 

But sorrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it that Summer's forsaken our val- 
leys. 
And grim, surly Winter is near? 



558 



BURNS' WORKS. 



No, no ! the bees humming round the 
gay roses 
Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear to dis- 
cover, [Icnown; 
Yet long, long too well ■ have I 
All that has caused this Avreck in my 
bosom 
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are im- 
mortal, 
Nor hope dare a comfort bestow: 
Come then, enamour 'd and fond of my 
anguish, 
Enjoyment I'll seek in my woe. 



DELUDED SWAIN, THE 
PLEASURE. 

Tune — " The Collier's Bonny Lassie," 
Deluded swain, the pleasure 

The fickle fair can give thee 
Is but a fairy treasure — 

Thy hopes will soon deceive thee. 

The billows on the ocean. 
The breezes idly roaming, 

The clouds uncertain motion — 
They are but types of woman. 

Oh ! art thou not ashamed 

To doat upon a feature ? 
If man thou wouldst be named. 

Despise the silly creature. 

Go, find an honest fellow; 

Good claret set before thee: 
Hold on till thou art mellow. 

And then to bed in glory. 



MY SPOUSE, NANCY. 

Tune—" My Jo, Janet." 

"Husband, husband, cease your strife, 

Nor longer idly rave, sir; 
Though I am your wedded wife. 

Yet I am not your slave, sir." 

" One of two must still obey, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Is it man, or woman, say. 
My spouse, Nancy V" 



" If 'tis still the lordly word. 

Service and obedience; 
I'll desert my sovereign lord, 

And so, good-by allegiance 1" 

" Sad will I be so, bereft, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Yet I'll try to make a shift. 

My spouse, Nancy," 

" My poor heart then break it must. 

My last hour I'm near it : 
When you lay me in the dust, 

Thiuk, think how you will bear it. ' 

" I will hope and trust in Heaven, 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Strength to bear it will be given. 

My spouse, Nancy." 

" Well, sir, from the silent dead. 

Still I'll try to daunt you; 
Ever round your midnight bed 

Horrid sprites shall haunt you." 

" I'll wed another, like my dear 

Nancy, Nancy; 
Then all hell will fly for fear. 

My spouse, Nancy." 



OH, WERE MY LOVE YON LILAO 
FAIR. 

Tune — " Hughie Graham." 

The first two stanzas only of this song are by 
Burns ; the other two are old. 

Oh, were my love yon lilac fair, 
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring; 

And I a bird to shelter there. 

When wearied on my little wing; 

How I wad mourn, when it was torn. 
By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 

But I wad sing, on wanton Aving, 
When youthfu' May its bloom 
renew'd. 

Oh, gin my love were yon red rose. 
That grows upon the castle wa'. 

And I mysel a drap o' dew. 
Into her bonny breast to fa' ! 

Oh ! there, beyond expression blest, •' 
I'd feast on beauty a' the night; j 

Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest. 
Till fley'd' awa' by Phoebus' light ! 



1 Frightened. 



SONGS. 



259 



THE LOVELY LASS OF INVER- 
NESS. 
Tune—" The Lass of Inverness." 
The lovely lass of Iverness 

Nae joy nor pleasure can slie see; 
For e'en and morn site cries, alas ! 

And aye the saut tear blin's her ee; 
Drumossie Moor — Drumossie day — 

A waefu' day it was to me ! 
For there I lost my father dear, 

My father dear, and brethren three. 

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 

Their graves are growing green to 
see; 
And by them lies the dearest lad 

That ever blest a woman's ee ! 
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 

A bluidy man I trow thou be; 
For mony a heart thou hast made sair 

That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. 



A RED, RED ROSE. 

Tune — " Graham's Strathspey." 
Oh, my luve's like a red, red rose, 

That's newly sprung in June: 
Oh, my luve's like the melodie 

That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonny lass. 

So deep in luve am.' I; 
And I will luve thee still, my dear. 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear. 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun: 

I will luve thee still my dear, 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve! 

And fare thee weel a while ! 
And I will come again, my luve, 

Though it were ten thousand mile. 



A VISION. 

The following lines were written amid the 
ruins of Lincluden Abbey, a favourite haunt 
of the poet's. He contributed a version 
somewhat different to the Scot's Musical 
Museum : — 

As I stood by yon roofless tower, 
Where the wa' - flower scents the 
de^vy air. 



Where the howlet' mourns in her ivy 
bower. 
And tells the midnight moon her 
care; 

The winds were laid, the air was still. 
The stars they shot along the sky; 

The fox Avas howling on the hill. 
And the distant-echoing glens reply. 

The stream adown its hazelly path. 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's. 

Hastening to join the weeping Nith, 
Whose distant roaring swells and 
fa's. 

The cauld blue North was streaming 
forth 

Her lights, wi' hissin', eerie din: 
Atliort the lift they start and shift. 

Like Fortune's favours, tint'^ as win. 

By heedless chance I turn'd mine eyes, 
And by the moonbeam, shook to 
see 

A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attired as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I a statue been o' stane. 

His daring look had daunted me; 

And on his bonnet graved was plain, 
The sacred posy — " Liberty!" 

And f rae his harp sic strains did flow. 
Might roused the slumbering dead to 
hear; 

But, oh ! it was a tale of woe. 
As ever met a Briton's ear! 

He sang wi' joy the former day. 

He, weeping, wail'd his latter times; 

But what he said it was nae play, — 
I winna venture't in my rhymes. 



OUT OVER THE FORTH. 

Tune — " Charlie Gordon's Welcome Hame." 

Out over the Forth I look to the north. 
But what is the north and its High- 
lands to me ? [breast, 
The south nor the east gie ease to my 
The far foreign land, or the wild- 
rollina: sea. 



SCO 



BURXS' WORKS. 



But I look to tlie west, when I gae to 

rest, [slumbers may be; 

That happy my dreams and my 

For far in the west lives he I lo'e best, 

The lad that is dear to my baby and 

me. 



JEANIE'S BOSOM. 
Tune — " Louis, what reck I by thee ?'■ 

Loots, what reck I by thee. 
Or Geordie on his ocean V 

Dyvor,' beggar loons to me — 
I reign in Jeanie's bosom. 

Let her crown my Jove her law, 
And in her breast enthrone me; 

King and nations — swith, awa' ! 
Keif -randies,'^ I disown yel 



FOR THE SAKE OP SOMEBODY. 

Tune — " For the Sake of Somebody." 
My heart is sair — I dare na tell — 
My heart is sair for Somebody; 
I could wake a winter night 
For the sake o' Somebody. 
Oh-hon! for Somebody! 
Oh-hey! for Somebody! 
I could range the world around, 
For the sake o' Somebody! 

Ye Powers that smile on virtuous love. 

Oh, sweetly smile on Somebody! 
Frae ilka danger keep him free. 
And send me safe my Somebody. 
Oh-hon! for Somebody! 
Oh-hey! for Somebody! 
I wad do — what wad I not ? 
For the sake o' Somebody! 



WILT THOU BE MY DEARIE. 

Air — " The Sutor's Dochter.'- 
Wilt thou be my dearie ? 
When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, 
Wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 
By the treasure of my soul. 
That's the love I bear thee! 
I swear and vow that only thou 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

* Bankrupt. * Thieviug^ bcggdis. 



Only thou, I swear and vow. 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me; 
Or, if thou wilt na be my ain. 
Say na thou'lt refuse me: 
If it winna, canna be, 
Thou, for thine may choose me. 
Let me, lassie, quickly die. 
Trusting that thou lo'est me. 
Lassie, let me quickly die. 
Trusting that thou lo'es me. 



LOVELY POLLY STEWART. 

Tune — " Ye're welcome, Charlie Stewart.' 

O Lovely Polly Stewart ! 

O charming Polly Stewart ! [May 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms im 

That's half so fair as thou art. 
The flower it blaws, it fades and fa's, 

And art can ne'er renew it; 
But worth and truth eternal youth 

Will gie to Polly Stewart. 

May he whose arms shall fauld thy 
charms 

Possess a leal and true heart; 
To him be given to ken the heaven 

He grasps in Polly Stewart ! 
O lovely Polly Stewart ! 

O charming Polly Stewart ! [May 
There's ne'er a flower that blooms ia 

That's half so sweet as thou art. 



TO MARY. 

Tune — " At Setting Day." 

CoOTjD aught of song declare my pains, 

Could artful numbers move thee. 
The Muse should tell, in labour'd 
strains, 

O Mary, how I love thee ! 
They wlio but feign a wounded heart 

May teach the lyre to languish; 
But what avails the pride of art. 

When wastes the soul with anguish ? 

Then let the sudden bursting sigh 
The heart-felt pang discover; 

And in the keen, yet tender eye. 
Oh, read th' imploring lover. 



SONGS. 



26t 



For well I know thy gentle mind 
Disdains art's gay disguising; 

Beyond what fancy e'er refined. 
The voice of nature prizing. 



WAE IS MY HEART. 

Tune — " Wae is my heart." 
Wae is my heart, and the tear's in my 

ee, 
Lang, lang, joy's been a stranger to me: 
Forsaken and friendless, my burden I 

bear, [sounds in my ear. 

And the sweet voice of pity ne'er 

Love, thoii hast pleasures, and deep 
hae 1 loved. [I proved; 

Love, thou hast sorrows, and sair hae 

But this bruised heart that now bleeds 
in my breast, [at rest. 

I can feel by its throbbings will soon be 

Oh, if I were, where happy I hae been, 
Pown by yon stream and yon bonny 

castle-green; [on me, 

For there he is wandering, and musing 
Wha wad soon dry the tear frae his 

Phillis' ee. 



HERE'S TO THY HEALTH, MY 

BONNY LASS. 

Tune — " Laggan Burn." 

Here's to thy health, my bonny lass, 

Guid night and joy be wi' thee; 
TU come nae mair to thy bower-door, 

To tell thee that I lo'e thee. 
Oh, dinna think, my pretty pink. 

But I can live without thee: 
J vow and swear I dinna care. 

How lang ye look about ye. 

Thou'rt aye sae free informing me 
Thou hast nae mind to marry; 

I'll be as free informing thee 
Nae time hae I to tarry. 

I ken thy friends try ilka means 
Frae wedlock to delay thee; 

Depending on some higher chance- 
But Fortune may betray thee. 

I ken they scorn my low estate, 
But that does never grieve me; 

3ut I'm as free as any he, 
Sma' siller will relieve me. 



I'll count my health my greatest wealth 

Sae lang as I'll enjoy it: 
I'll fear nae scant. 111 bode nae want, 

As lang's 1 get employment. 

But far-off fowls hae feathers fair, 

And aye until ye try them : [care. 
Though they seem fair, still have a 

They may prove waur than I am. 
But at twal at night, when the moon 
shines bright, 

My dear, I'll come and see thee; 
For the man that lo'es his mistress 
weel, 

Nae travel makes him weary. 



ANNA, THY CHARMS. 

Tune—'' Bonny Mary." , 

Anna, thy charms my bosom fire, 

And waste my soul with care; 
But ah ! how bootless to admire. 

When fated to despair ? 
Yet in thy presence, lovely fair. 

To hope may be forgiven; 
For sure 'twere impious to despair. 

So much in sight of heaven. 



MY LADY'S GOWN, THERE'S 
GAIRS UPON'T. 

Tune — " Gregg's Pipes." 

My lady's gown, there's gairs' upon't. 
And gowden flowers sae rare upon't; 
But Jenny's jimps^ and jirkinet,^ 
My lord thinks meikle mair upon't. 

My lord a-hunting he is gane, 
But hounds or hawks wi'himarenane; 
By Colin's cottage lies his game. 
If Colin's Jenny be at hame. 

My lady's white, my lady's red. 
And kith and kin o' Cassillis' blude; 
But her ten-pund lands o' tocher guid 
Were a' the charms his lordship lo'ed. 

Out o'er yon muir, out o'er yon moss, 
Whare gor-cocks through the heather 

pass. 
There wons auld Colin's bonny lass, 
A lily in a wilderness. 



1 A triangular piece of cloth inserted at the 
bottom of a robe. - A kind of stays. ^ Bodice^ 



S62 



BUBNS' WORKS. 



Sae sweetly move her gentle limbs, 
Like music-notes o' lovers' hymns: 
The diamond dew in her een sae blue. 
Where laughing love sae wanton 
swuns. 

My lady's dink,'* my lady's drest. 
The flower and fancy o' the west; 
But the lassie that a man lo'es best, 
Oh, that's the lass to mak him blest. 



JOCKEY'S TA'EN THE PARTING 
KISS. 
Tune — " Bonny Lassie, tak a Man." 
Jockey's ta'en the parting kiss. 

O'er the mountains he is gane; 
And with him is a' my hliss. 

Nought but griefs with me remain. 
Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw. 

Flashy sleets and beating rain I 
Spare my luve, thou feathery snaw, 

Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 

O'er the day's fair gladsome ee, 
Sound and safely may he sleep. 

Sweetly blithe his waukening be I 
He will think on her he loves. 

Fondly he'll repeat her name; 
For where'er he distant roves. 

Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



OH, LAY THY LOOF IN MINE, 
LASS. 
Tune — " Cordwainers' March." 
Oh, lay thy loof ' in mine, lass. 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass; 
And swear on thy white hand, lass, 
That thou, wilt be my ain. 

A slave to love's unbounded sway. 
He aft has wrought me meikle wae; 
But now he is my deadly fae, 
Unless thou be my ain. 

There's mony a lass has broke my rest. 
That for a blink^ I hae lo'ed best; 
But thou art queen within my breast, 
Forever to remain. 

* Neat, trim. 
* Palm. 2 Short space. 



Oh, lay thy loof in mine, lass. 
In mine, lass, in mine, lass ; 
And swear on thy white hand, lass, 
That thou wilt be my ain. 



OH, MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S 
SWEET. 

As I was walking up the street, 
A barefit maid I chanced to meet, 

But oh, the road was very hard 
For that fair maiden's tender feet. 

Oh, Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, 
Mally's modest and discreet, 

Mally's rare, Mally's fair, 
Mally's every way complete. 

It were mair meet that those fine feet 
Were weel laced up in silken shoon. 

And 'twere more fit that she should sit 
Within yon chariot gilt abooa. 

Her yellow hair, beyond compare. 
Comes trinkling down her ^wan-like 
neck; 
And her two eyes, like stars in skies. 
Would keep a sinking ship fraa 
wreck. 



THE BANKS OF CREE. 

Tune—" The Banks of Cree." 

Lady Elizabeth Heron having composed an 
air entitled " The Banks of Cree," in re- 
membrance of a beautiful and romantic 
stream of that name, " I have written," 
says the poet, " the following- song to it, as 
her ladyship is a particular friend of mine." 

Here is the glen, and here the bower. 
All underneath the birchen shade; 

The village-bell has told the hour — 
Oh, what can stay my lovely maid ? 

'Tis not Maria's whispering call; 

'Tis not the balmy- breathing gale. 
Mist with some warbler's dying fall. 

The dewy star of eve to hail. 

It is Maria's voice I hear! 

So calls the woodlark in the gmve. 
His little faithful mate to cheer— 

At once 'tis music, and 'tis love. 




v^ 



SONGS. 



263 



And art tliou come ? and art thou true? 

Oh, welcome, dear, to love and me! 
And let us all our vows renew 

Along the flowery banks of Cree, 



ON THE SEAS AND FAR AWAY. 

Tune — " O'er the hills and far away." 
Ho"W can my poor heart be glad. 
When absent from my sailor lad ? 
How can I the thought forego, 
He's on the seas to meet the foe ? 
Let me wander, let me rove, 
Still my heart is with my love: 
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by day, 
Ai'e with him that's far av/ay. 

On the seas and far away, 
On stormy seas and far away; 
Nightly dreams, and thoughts by 

day, 
Are aye with him that's far away. 

When in summer noon I faint. 
As weary flocks around me pant, 
Haply in the scorching sun 
My sailor's thundering at his gun: 
Bullets, spare my only joy ! 
Bullets, spare my darling boy ! 
Fate, do with me what you uiay— 
Spare but him that's far away! 

At the starless midnight hour, [power. 
When winter rules v,'ith boundless 
As the storms the forests tear. 
And thunders rend the howling air. 
Listening to the doubling roar. 
Surging on the rocky shore. 
All I can — I weep and pray. 
For his weal that's far away. 

Peace, thy olive wand extend, 

And bid wild War his ravage end, 

Man with brother man to meet. 

And as a brother kindly greet: [gales 

Then may Heaven with prosperous 

Fill my sailor's welcome sails. 

To my arms their charge convey— 

My dear lad that's far away. 



Ca' the yowes to the knowes 
Ca' them whare the heather grows, 
Ca' them whare the burnie rowes, 
My bonny dearie 1 

Hark the mavis' evening sang 
Sounding Cluden's woods amang 1 
Then a faulding let us gang, 
My bonny dearie. 

We'll gae down by Cluden side. 
Through the hazels spreading wide. 
O'er the waves that sweetly glide. 
To the moon sae clearly. 

Yonder Cluden's silent towers. 
Where at moonshine midnight hours. 
O'er the dewy bending flowers. 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 

Gliaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; 
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 
Nocht of ill may come thee near, 
My bonny dearie. 

Fair and lovely as thou art. 
Thou hast stown my very heart; 
I can die — but canna part^ 
My bonny dearie I 



CA' THE YOWES. 

This is an improved version, which the poet 
prepared for his friend Thomson, of a song- 
. already given at p. 229. 



SHE SAYS SHE LO'ES ME BEST 
OF A'. 
Tune—" Onagh's Waterfall." 
Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o'er-arching 

Twa laughing een o' bonny blue. 
Her smiling sae wiling. 

Wad make a wretch forget his woe; 
What pleasure, what treasure. 

Unto these rosy lips to grow 1 
Such was my Chloris' bonny face, 

When first her bonny face I saw; 
And aye my Chloris' dearest charm. 

She says she lo'es me best of a'. 

Like harmony her motion; 

Her pretty ankle is a spy. 
Betraying fair proportion,' 

Wad mak a saint forget the sky. 
Sae warming, sae channing. 

Her faultless form and gracefu' air; 
Ilk feature — auld Nature 

Declared that she could do nae mair. 



264 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Hers are the willing chains o' love, 
By conquering beauty's sovereign 
law; 

And aye my Chloris' dearest charm, 
She says she lo'es me best o' a'. 

Let others love the city, 

And gaudy show at sunny noon; 
Gie me the lonely valley, 

The dewy eve, and rising moon; 
Fair beaming and streaming. 

Her silver light the boughs amang; 
While falling, recalling, [sang; 

The amourous thrush concludes his 
There, dearest Chloris, vrilt thou rove 

By wimpling barn and leafy shaw. 
And hear my vows o' truth and love. 

And say thou lo'est me best of a'? 



THE LOVER'S MORNING SALUTE 

TO HIS MISTRESS. 

Tune — " Deil tak the wars." 

" Having been out in the country dining with 
a friend," (Mr. Lorimer of Kemmis Hall,) 
says the poet in a letter to Thomson, " I 
met with a lady, (iSIrs. Whelpdale — ' Chlo- 
ris,') and as usual got into song, and on re- 
turning home composed the following : — 

Sleep'st thou or wakest thou, fairest 
creature ? 
Rosy morn now lifts his eye. 

Numbering ilka bud which nature 
Waters wi' the tears o' joy: 
Now through the leafy woods. 
And by the reeking floods, [stray. 

Wild nature's tenants, freely, gladly, 
The lintwhite in his bower 
Chants o'er the breathing flower;* 
The laverock to the sky 
Ascends wi' sangs o' joy, 

Wliile the sun and thou arise to bless 
the day. 

Phoebus, gilding the brow o' morning. 
Banishes ilk darksome shade. 



* Variation. — 

" Now to the streaming fountain, 
Or up the healthy mountain, 
The hart, hind, and roe, freely, wildly- 
wanton stray ; 
In twining hazel bowers 
His lay the linnet pours : 
The laverock to the sky,'' &c. 



Nature gladdening and adorning; 
Such to me my lovely maid. 
When absent frae my fair. 
The murk)' shades o' care 

With startless gloom o'ercast my sul- 
len sky; 
But when, in beauty's light. 
She meets my ravish'd sight. 
When through my very heart 
Her beaming glories dart — [joy.f 

'Tis then I wake to life, to light, and 



CHLORIS. 

Regarding the following lines, the poet says : 
— " Having been on a visit the other day to 
my fair Chloris — that is the poetic name of 
the lovely goddess of my inspiration — she 
suggested an idea, which, on my return 
home, I wrought into the following 
song:" — 

My Chloris, mark how green the 
groves. 

The primrose banks how fair; 
The balmy gales awake the flowers. 

And wave thy flaxen hair. 

The laverock shuns the palace gay. 

And o'er the cottage sings; 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween. 

To shepherds as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilf u' string 

In lordly lighted ha' : 
The shepherd stops his simple reed. 

Blithe, in the birken shaw. ' 

The princely revel may survey 
Our rustic dance wi' scorn; 

But are their hearts as light as ours. 
Beneath the millc- white thorn ? 

The shepherd in the flowery glen. 
In shepherd's phrase will woo; 

The courtier tells a finer tale — 
But is his heart as true ? 



1 Birch-wood. 

t Var.— 

" When frae my Chloris parted, 
Sad, cheerless, broken-hearted, 
Then night's gloomy shades, cloudy, dark, 
o'ercast my sky ; 
But when she charms my sight, 
hi pride of beauty's light: 
When through my very heart 
Her beaming glories dart, 
'Tis then, 'tis then I wake to life and 
joy." 



SONGS. 



265 



These ^vild-wood Ho were I've pu'd, 
to deck 

That spotless breast o' thine; 
The courtier's gems may witness love — 

But 'tisna love like mine. 



TO CHLORIS 

The following lines, says the poet, were 
" written on the blank leaf of a copy of the 
last edition of my poems, and presented to 
the lady whom, with the most ardent senti- 
ments of real friendship, I liave so often 
sung under the name of Chloris :" — 

Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, 
fair friend, 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralising Muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and 
charms. 

Must bid the world adieu, [arms,) 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant 

To join the friendly few; 

Since thy gay morn of life o'ercast. 
Chill came the tempests lower; 

(And ne'er misfortune's eastern blast 
Did nip a fairer flower;) 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no 
more. 

Still much is left behind; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store — 

The comforts of the mind ! 

Thine is the self -approving glow 

On concious honour's part; 
And — dearest gift of Heaven below — 

Thine f riendshij)'s truest heart. 

The joys refined of sense and taste, 

With every Muse to rove: 
And doubly were the poet blest, 

These joys could he improve. 



AH, CHLORIS! 

Tune — " Major Graham." 
An, Chloris ! since it mayna be 

That thou of love wilt hear; 
If from the lover thou maun flee, 

Ye^let the friend be dear. 

A-lthough I love my Chloris mair 
Than ever tongue could tell; 



My passion I will ne'er declare, 
I'll say, I wish thee well. 

Though a' my daily care thou art, 
And a" my nightly dream, 

I'll hide the struggle in my heart. 
And say it is esteem. 



SAW YE MY PHELY? 

Tune — " When she cam ben she bobbit." 
Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
Oh, saw ye my dear, my Phely ? 
She's dov/n i' the grove, she's wi' a 
new love. 
She winna come hame to her Willy. 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely 1 

What says she, my dearest, my Phely? 

She lets "thee to wit that she has thee 

forgot. 

And for ever disowns thee, her Willy. 

Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phely ! 
Oh, had I ne'er seen thee, my Phelj'' ! 
As light as the air, and fause as thou's 
fair — [Willy. 

Thou's broken the heart o' thy 



HOW LONG AND DREARY IS 
THE NIGHT ! 
To a Gaelic Air. 
How 1 ong and dreary is the night, 

When I am frae my dearie ! 
I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn. 

Though I were ne'er sae weary. 
I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn. 
Though I were ne'er sae weary. 

When I think on the happy days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie. 

And now what lands between us lie. 
How can I be but eerie V 

And now what lands between us lie, 
Hdw can I be but eerie ? 

How slow ye move, ye laeavy hours, 
As ye were wae and weary ! 

It wasna sae ye glinted^ by 
When I was wi' my dearie. 

It wasna sae ye glinted by 
When I was wi' my dearie. 



1 Lonely. 



Ghded. 



266 



BURNS' WORKS. 



IMPROVED VERSION. 

Tune — " Cauld Kail in Aberdeen." 

How long and dreary is the niglit. 
When 1 am t'rae my dearie ! 

I restless lie frae e'en to morn. 
Though I were ne'er sae weary. 

For oh ! her lanely nights are lang; 

And oh, her dreams are eerie; 
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair. 

That's absent frae her dearie. 

When I think on the lightsome days 
I spent wi' thee, my dearie; 

And now what seas between us roar — 
How can 1 be but eerie ? 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours ! 

The joyless day how dreary ! 
It wasna sae ye glinted by, 

Where I was wi' my dearie. 



LET NOT WOMAN E'ER COM. 
PLAIN. 

Tune — " Duncan Gray." 

" I have been at ' Duncan Gray,' says the poet 
to Thomson, " to dress it into English ; but 
all 1 can do is deplorably stupid. For in- 
stance :" — 

Let not woman e'er complain 

Of inconstancy in love; 
Let not woman e'er complain 

Fickle man is apt to rove: 
Look abroad through nature's range. 
Nature's mighty law is change; 
Ladies, would it not be strange, 

Man should then a monster prove ? 

Mark the winds, and mark the skies; 

Oceaii's ebb, and ocean's flow: 
Sun and moon but set to rise. 

Round and round the seasons go: 
Why then ask of silly man 
To oppose greatNature's plan? 
We'll be constant while we can — 

You can be no more, you know. 



THE CHARMING MONTH OP MAY. 

The poet having: given the following English 
dress to an old Scotch ditty, says, in trans- 
mitting it to Thomson: — You may think 
meanly of this ; but if you saw the bombast 
of the original you would be surprised that 
I had made so much ot it." , - 



It was the charming month of May, 
When all the flowers were fresh and 

gay, 
One morning by the break of day, 

The youthful, charming Chloe; 
From peaceful slumber she arose. 
Girt on her mantle and her hose. 
And o'er the flowery mead she goes, 

The youthful, charming Chloe. 

Lovely was she by the dawn. 

Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe; 

Tripping o'er the pearly lawn, 
The youthful, charming Chloe. 

The feather'd people you might see 
Perch'd all around, on every tree, 
In notes of sweetest melody. 

They hail the charming Chloe; 
Till painting gay the eastern skies, 
The glorious sun began to rise, 
Out-rivall'd by the radiant eyes 

Of youthful, charming Chloe. 



LASSIE Wr THE LINT- WHITE 
LOCKS. 

Tune — " Rothemurche's Rant. 

" This piece," says the poet, " has at least the 
merit of being a regular pastoral : the ver- 
nal morn, the summer noon, the autumnal 
evening, and the winter night, are regular., 
ly rounded." 

Now nature deeds' the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee; 
Oh, wilt thou share its joy wi' me, 
And say thou'lt be my dearie, O ? 

Lassie wi' the lint- white locks. 
Bonny lassie, artless lassie. 

Wilt thou wi' me tent'-* the flocks ? 
Wilt thou be my dearie, '? 

And when the welcome simmer- 
shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower. 
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower 
At sultry noon, my dearie, O. 

When Cynthia lights wi' silver ray, 
The weary shearer's-^ hameward way: 
Through yellow waving fields we'll 
stray. 
And talk o' love, my dearie. Or 



1 Clothes. * Tend. ^ Reapers. 



SONGS. 



267 



And when the howling \vintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest; 
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, 0. 



FAREWELL. THOU STREAM. 
Tune — " Nancy's to the greenwood gane." 

This sorg appears to be an improved version 
of the'one entitled, " The last time I came 
o'er the moor," (p. 253. ) with the substitu- 
tion of the name Eliza for that of Maria. 
This change probably arose from the poet's 
quarrel wiLh Mrs. Riddel having rendered 
her name distasteful to him. See the intro- 
duction to the song entitled, " Canst thou 
leave me thus, my Katy ?" in the following 
page. 

Farewell, thou stream that winding 
flows 
Around Eliza's dwelling! 

Memory! spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling: 

(^ondemn'd to drag a hopeless chain. 
And yet in secret languish; 

To feel a fire in every yein. 
Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretcn, unseen, un- 
known, 
I fain my griefs wouio cover; 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting 
groan, 
Betray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou doom'st me to despair. 

Nor wilt, nor canst, relieve me; 
But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer — 
For pity's sake,forgive me! 

The music of thy voice I heard. 

Nor Mast while it enslaved me; 
I saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear'd, 

'Till fears no more had saved me: 
The unwary sailor thits aghast. 

The wheeling torrent viewing; 
'Mid circling horrors sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



OH PHILLY, HAPPY BE THAT 
DAY. 

TiTOE— "The Sow's Tail.' 
HE. 
Philly, happy be that day, 
When roving through the gather'd hay, 



My youthfu' heart was stown away. 
And by thy charms, my Philly. 

SHE. 

Willy, aye I bless the grove 
Where I first own'd my maiden love, 
Whilst thou didst pledge the Powers 
above 
To be my ain dear Willy. 

HE. 

As songsters of the early year 
Are ilka day mair sweet to hear. 
So ilka day to me mair dear. 
And charming is my Philly. 



As on the brier the budding rose 
Still richer breathes and fairer blows. 
So in my tender bosom grows 
The love I bear my Willy. 

HE. 
The milder sun and bluer sky 
That crown my harvest cares wi' joy. 
Were ne'er so welcome to my eye 
As is a sight o' Philly. 

SHE. 

The little swallow's wanton wing, 
Though wafting o'er the flowery 

spring. 
Did ne'er to me sic tidings bring 
As meeting o' my Willy. 

HE. 

The bee that through the sunny hour 
Sips nectar in the opening flower. 
Compared wi' my delight is poor. 
Upon the lips o' Philly. 

SHE. 

The woodbine in the dewy weet 
When evening shades in silence meet. 
Is nocht sae fragrant or sae sweet 

As is a kiss o' Willy. 
HE. 
Let Fortune's wheel at random rin, 
And fools may tyne, and knaves may 

win; 
My thoughts are a' bound up in ane. 

And that's my ain dear Philly. 

SHE. 

Wliat's a' the joys that gowd can gie, 
I carena wealth a single flie; 
The lad I love's the lad for me. 
And that's my ain dear Willy. 



268 



BURNS' WOEKS. 



CONTENTED WI' LITTLE. 

Tune — " Lumps o' Pudding." 

This song is entitled to more than ordinary- 
attention, as it appears the poet meant it 
for a personal slietch : for, in a letter to 
Thomson, thanking him for the present of a 
picture of " The Cotter's Saturday Night," 
by David Allan, the leading painter of the 
day, he says : — " Ten thousand thanks for 
your elegant present. ... I have some 
thoughts of suggesting to you to prefix a 
vignette of me to my song, ' Contented vfi' 
little, and ca>ntie wi' mair, in order that the 
portrait of my face, and ike picture of my 
mind, may go down the stream of time to- 
gether." 

Contented wi' little, and cantie' wi' 
mair, [care. 

Whene'er I forgatlier^ wi' sorrow and 

I gie tliem a skelp,^ as they're creeping 
alang, [Scottish sang. 

Wi' a cog o' guid swats,* and an auld 

I whiles claw the elbow o' troublesome 
thought; [f aught; 

But man is a sodger, and life is a 

My mirth and guid humour are coin in 
my pouch, 

And my freedom's my lairdsliip nae 
monarch dare touch. 

A towmond^ o' trouble, should that 
be my fa', [it a': 

A night o' guid-fellowship sowthers** 

When at the blithe end o' our journey 
at last, [lie has past ? 

Wha the deil ever thinks o' the road 

Blind Chance, let her snapper and 
stoyte'' on her way; [jade gae;^ 

Be't to me, be't f rae me, e'en let the 

Come ease or come travail ; come pleas- 
ure or pain; [welcome again !" 

My warst ward is — " Welcome and 



CANST THOU LEAVE ME THUS, 

MY KATY? 

Tune — " Roy's Wife." 

This song, which the poet says he composed 
in two or three turns across his little room, 
was meant as a representation of the kindly 
feelings which he now once more began to 
entertain for his former beautiful and fas- 
cinating friend, Mrs. Riddel of Woodley 



1 Hapoy. 2 Meet. ^ Whack. ■• Flagon of 
ale. ^ Twelvemonth. » Solders. ' Stagger 
and stumble. ^ Slut go. 



Park. She replied to his song in a similar 
stram of poetic licence.* The poet, it will 
be observed, with the usual freedom of the 
sons of Apollo, addresses her as a mistress, 
and in that character she replies to him. 

Is this thy plighted, fond reward. 
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy ? 

Is this thy faithful swain's regard — 
An aching, broken heart, my Katy ? 

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? 
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy? 



* The following are the pieces which Mrs 
Riddel sent to the poet in reply to his song ;— 

Tune—" Roy's Wife.'' 

" Tell me that thou yet art true, 

And a' my wrongs shall be forgiven ; 
And when this heart proves fause to thee, 
Yon sun shall cease its course in heaven. 

" Staj', my Willie— yet believe me, 
Stay, my Willie— yet believe me. 
For, ah ! thou know'st na every pang [me. 
Wad wring my bosom, shouldst thou leave 

" But to think I was betray'd, [sunder ! 

That falsehood e'er our loves should 
To take the floweret to my breast. 
And find the guilefu' serpent under. 

" Could I hope thou'dst ne'er deceive. 

Celestial pleasures might I choose 'em, 
I'd slight, nor seek in other spheres 
That heaven I'd find within thy bosom. 
■" Stay, my Willie — yet believe me, 
Stay, my Willie— yet believe me. 
For ah ! thou know'st na every pang 
Wad wring my bosom, should'st thou 
leave me." 



"To thee, loved Nith, thy gladsome plains. 

Where late with careless thought I ranged, 
Though prest Avith care, and sunk in woe, 

To thee I bring a heart unchanged. 
I love thee, Nith, thy banks and braes, 

Though Memory there my bosom tear, 
For there he roved that broke my heart, 

Yet to that heart, ah, still how dear ! 

" And now your banks and bonny braes 

But waken sad remembrance' smart ; 
The very shades I held most dear 

Now strike fresh anguish to my heart ; 
Deserted bower ! where are they now — 

Ah ! where the garlands that I v, ove 
With faithful care, each morn to deck 

The altars of ungrateful love? 

" The flowers of spring, how gay they bloom'd. 

When last with him I wander'd here ! 
The flowers of spring are pass'd away 

For wintry horrors, dark and drear. 
Yon osier'd stream, by whose lone banks 

My songs have lull'd him oft to rest. 
Is now in icy fetters lock'd — 

Cold as my false love's frozen breast." 



SONGS. 



369 



Well tliou 
heart — 
And canst thou 



knowest my achmg 

[pity ! 

leave me thus for 



Farewell ! and ne'er such sorrows tear 
That fickle heart of thine, my Katy ! 
Thou mayst find those will love thee, 

dear — 
[ But not a love like mine, Katy ! 



WHA IS THAT AT MY BOWER- 
DOOR? 

Tune — '"[Lass, an I come near thee." 

Wha is that at my bower- door? 

Oh, wha is it but Findlay ? 
Then gae yere gate, ' ye'se na be here ! — 

Indeed, maun I, quo' Findlay. 
What mak ye sae like a thief ? 

Oh, come and see, quo' Findlay; 
Before the morn ye'll work mischief — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Gif I rise and let you in, — 

Let me in, quo' Findlay, 
Ye'll keep me waukin wi' your din — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
In my bower if ye should stay, — 

Let me stay, quo' Findlay; 
I fear ye'll bide'' till break o' day — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 

Here this night if ye remain, — 

I'll remain, quo' Findlay; 
I dread ye'll ken the gate again; — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 
What may pass within this bower, — 

Let it pass, quo' Findlay; 
Ye maun conceal till your last hour; — 

Indeed will I, quo' Findlay. 



THE CARDIN' O'T. 

Tune — " Salt-fish and Dumplings." 
I coft' a stane o' haslock'^ woo. 

To mak a coat to Johnny o't; 
For Johnny is my only jo, 

I lo'e him best of ony yet. 

The cardin' o't, the spinnin' o't; 
Thewarpin' o't, the winnin' o't; 



Way. 



2 If. 3 Remain. 



'Bought. * Hause-lock — the wool from the 
throat— the finest of the flock. 



When ilka ell cost me a groat. 
The tailor staw^ the limn' o't. 

For though his locks be lyart gray, 
And though his brow be held aboon; 

Yet 1 hae seen him on a day 
The pride of a' the parishen. 



THE PIPER. 

A FKAGMENT. 

There came a piper out o' Fife. 

I watna what tJiey ca'd him; 
He play'd our cousin Kate a spring 

When fient a body bade him; 
And aye the mair he hotch'd and blew, 

The majr that she forbade him. 



JENNY M'CRAW. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Jenny M'Craw, she has ta'en to the 

heather, [her thither; 

Saj'', was it the Covenant carried 

Jenny M'Craw to the mountains is 

gane, [a' she has ta'en; 

Their leagues and their covenants 

My head and my heart now, quo' she, 

are at rest, [best. 

And as for the lave, let the deil do his 



THE LAST BRAW BRIDAL. 

A FRAGMENT. 

The last braw bridal that I was at, 

'Twas on a Hallowmas day, 
And tliere was routh' o' drink and fun, 

And mickle mirth and play, [sanp-. 
The beils they rang, and the carlines''' 

And the dames danced in the ha' ; 
The bride went to bed wi' the silly 
bridegroom. 

In the midst o' her kimmers^ a*. 



LINES ON A MERRY 
PLOUGHMAN. 



As I was a wandering ae morning in 
[sweetly to sing; 
a merry ploughman sae 



spring, 
I heard 



' Plenty. 



3 Stole. 
- Old women. 



8 Women. 



270 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And as lie was singin' thae words he 

did say, 
There's nae life like the ploughman's 

in the raonth o' sweet May. 

The laverock in the morning she'll rise 
frae her nest, [her breast; 

And mount in the air wi' the dew on 

And wi' the merry ploughman she'll 
wliistle and sing; [back again. 

And at night she'll return to her nest 



THE WINTER OF LIFE. 
Tune — " Gil Morice." 
But lately seen in gladsome green, 

The woods rejoiced the day; 
Through gentle showers the laughing 
flowers 
In double pride were gay: 
But now our joys are fled 
Oa winter blasts awa' ! 
Yet maiden May in rich array, 
Again shall bring then a'. 

But my white pow^ nae kindly thowe,^ 

Shall melt the snaws of age; 
My trunk of eild,^ but* buss or bield'^ 

Sinks in Time's wintry rage. 
Oh ! age has weary days. 

And nights o' sleepless pain ! 
Thou golden time o' youthfu' prime, 

Why comest thou not again ! 



I'LL AYE CA' IN BY YON TOWN. 

Tune — " I'll gae nae mair to yon town." 
I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green, again: 
I'll aye ca' in by yon town. 

And see my bonny Jean again. 

There's nane sail ken, there's nane sail 
guess. 

What brings me back the gate again; 
But she, my fairest, faith fu' lass, 

And stowlins' we sail meet again. 

She'll wander by the aiken tree, 

When trystin'-time draws near again; 

And when her lovely fonn I see. 
Oh, haith, she's doubly dear again ! 

1 Head. 2 Thaw. » Aged trunk. * Without. 
6 Shelter. 

* Secretly. 



I'll aye ca' in by yon town, 

And by yon garden green, again; 

I'll aye ca' in by yon town. 
And see my bonny Jean again. 



THE GOWDEN LOCKS OF ANNA. 

Tune — " Banks of Banna." 

"A Dumfries maiden," says Cunningham, 
" with a light foot and a merry eye, was the 
heorme of this clever song. Burns though t 
so well of it himself that he recommended 
it to Thomson; but the latter — aware, per- 
haps, of the free character of her of the 
gowden locks, excluded it, though pressed 
to publish it by the poet. Irritated, per- 
haps, at Thomson's refusal, he wrote the 
additional stanza, b)' way of postscript, in 
defiance of his colder-blooded critic." 

Yestreen I had a pint o' wine, 

A place where body saw na; 
Yestreen lay on this breast o' mine 

The gowden locks of Anna. 
The hungry Jew in wilderness. 

Rejoicing o'er his manna. 
Was naething to my hinny bliss 

Upon the lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs tak the east and west, 

Frae Indus to Savannah ! 
Gie me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 
There I'll despise imperial charms, 

An empress or sultana. 
While dying raptures in her arms 

I give and take with Anna ! 

Awa', thou flaunting god o' day ! 

Awa', thou pale Diana ! 
Ilk star gae hide thy twinkling ray. 

When I'm to meet my Anna. 
Come, in thy raven plumage. Night ! 

Sun, moon, and stars withdrawn a'j 
And bring an angel pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna ! 

POSTSCRIPT. 

The kirk and state may join, and tell 

To do such things I maunna: 
The kirk and state may gae to hell. 

And I'll gae to my Anna. 
She is the sunshine o' my ee, — 

To live but' her I canna; 
Had I on earth but wishes three. 

The first should be my Anna. 

— __ ^ 

1 Without. 



SONGS. 



271 



HAD I THE WYTE. 

Tune — " Had I the wyte ?— she bade me." 
Had I the wyte,' liad I tlie wyte, 

Had I the wyte ? — she bade me; 
She watch'd me by thehie-gate side. 

And up the loan she shaw'd me; 
And when I wadna venture in, 

A coward loon she ca'd me; 
Had kirk and state been in the gate, 

I lighted when she bade me. 

Sae craftilie she took me ben,- 

And bade me make nae clatter; [man 
"For our ramgunshoch, glum^ guid- 

Is o'er ayontthe water;" 
Whae'er shall say I wanted grace. 

When I did kiss and dawt-* her, 
Let him be planted in my place. 

Syne say I was a fautor. 

Could I for shame, could I for shame. 

Could I for shame refused her ? 
And wadna manhood been to blame 

Had I unkindl)^ used her ? 

He claw'd her wi' the ripplin-kame, 

f. And blae and bluidy bruised her; 

" When sic a husband was f rae hame. 

What wife but wad excused her ? 

I dighted' aye her een sae blue. 

And baan'd the cruel randy;* 
And weel I wat her willing mou' 

Was e'en like sugar candy. 
At gloamin'-shot it was, I trow, 

I lighted on the Mooday; 
But I cam through the Tysday's dew, 

To wanton Willie's brandy. 



CALEDONIA. 

Tune — " Caledonian Hunt's Delig-ht." 

There was once a day — but old Time 

then was young — [her line. 

That brave Caledonia, the chief of 

From some of your northern deities 

sprung, [donia's divine ?) 

(Wlio knows not that brave Cale- 

From Tweed to the Orcades was her 

domain, [she would: 

To hunt, or to pasture, or do what 

Her heavenly relations there fixed her 

reign. [warrant it good. 

And pledged her their godheads to 

1 Blame. - In. 3 Rugged, eoarse. * Fondle. 
* Wiped. Scold. 



A lambkin m peace, but a lion in war, 
The pride of her kindred the heroine 
grew: [swore, 

Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly 
"Who e'er shall provoke thee th' 
encounter shall rue!" 
With tillage or pasture at times she 
would sport, [rustling corn; 

To feed her fair flocks by her green 
But chiefly the woods were her favour- 
ite resort, [and the horn. 
Her darling amusement the hounds 

Long quiet she reign'd; till thither- 
ward steers [strand, 
A flight of bold eagles from Adria's 
Repeated, successive, for many long 
years, 
They darken'd the air, and they 
plunder'd the land: 
Their pounces were murder, andterroi* 
their cry, [beside; 
Tliey'd conquer'd and ruin'd a world 
She took to her hills, and her arrows 
let fly— [died. 
The daring invaders they fled or they 

The fell harpy-raven took wing from 

the north. 

The scourge of the seas, and tha 

dread of the shore! 

The wild Scandinavian boar issued 

forth [in gore; 

To wanton in carnage, and wallow 

O'er countries and kingdoms their fury 

prevail'd, [could repel ; 

No arts could appease them, no arms 

But brave Caledonia in vain they as- 

sail'd, [cartie tell. 

As Largs well can witness, and Lon- 

The Cameleon - savage disturb'd her 

repose, [strife; 

With tumult, disquiet, rebellion and 

Provoked beyond bearing, at last she 

arose, [and his life: 

And robb'd him at once of his hopes 

The Anglian lion, the terror of France, 

Oft prowling, ensanguined the 

Tweed's silver flood: [lance. 

But, taught by the bright Caledonian 

He learn'd to fear in his own native 

wood. 

Thus bold, independent, unconquer'd, 

and free, [shall run: 

Her bright course of glory forevel 



273 



BURNS' WORKS. 



For brave Caledonia immortal must be; 
I'll prove it from Euclid as clear as 
the sun; 

Rectangle-triangle, the figure we'll 
choose, 
The upright is Chance, and old 
Time is the base; 
But brave Caledonia's thehypothenuse: 
Then, ergo, she'll match them, and 
match them always. 



THE FAREWELL. 

Tune — " It was a' for our rightfu' king." 

It was a' for our rightfu' king 
We left fair Scotland's strand; 

It was a' for our rightfu' king 
We e'er saw Irish land, my dear. 
We e'er saw Irish land. 

Now a' is done that men can do. 
And a' is done in vain; 

My love and native land farewell, 
For I maun cross the main, my dear. 
For I maun cross the main. 

He turn'd him right and round about, 

Upon the Irish shore: 
And gae his bridle-reins a shake. 

With adieu for evermore, my dear. 

With adieu for evermore. 

The sodger f rae the wars returns, 

The sailor f rae the main ; 
But I hae parted f rae my love. 

Never to meet again, my dear, 

Never to meet again. 

Wlien day is gane, and night is come, 
And a' folk bound to sleep; 

I think on him that's far awa', [dear. 
The lee-lang night, and weep, my 
The lee-lang night, and weep. 



OH, STEER HER UP. 

Tune—" Oh, steer her up and haud her 
gaun." 

Oh, steer^ her up and haud her gaun — 
Her mither's at the mill, jo; 

And gin she winna tak a man. 
E'en let her tak her will, jo: 

1 Stir. 



First shore^ her wi' a kindly kiss, 

And ca' anither gill, jo; 
And gin she tak the thing amiss. 

E'en let her liyte* her fill, jo. 

Oh, steer her up, and be na blate,* 

And giu she tak it ill, jo. 
Then lea'e the lassie till her fate. 

And time na langer spill, jo: 
Ne'er break your heart for ae rebute,* 

But think upon it still, jo; 
That gin the lassie winna do't, 

Ye'll fin' anither will, jo. 



BONNY PEG-A-RAMSAY. 

Tune — " Cauld is the e'enin' blast.* 
Caut-d is the e'enin' blast 

O' Boreas o'er the pool; 
And dawin' it is dreary 

When birks are bare at Yule. 

Oh, cauld blaws the e'enin' blast 
When bitter bites the frost, 

And in the mirk and dreary drift 
The hills and glens are lost. 

Ne'er sae murky blew the night 
That drifted o'er the hill. 

But bonny Peg-a-Ramsay 
Gat grist to her mill. 



HEE BALOU ! 

Tune—" The Highland Balou." 

Concerning this song, Cromek says : — " The 
time when the moss-troopers and cattle - 
drivers on the Borders began their nightly 
depredations was the first Michaelmas 
moon. Cattle-stealing formerly was a mere 
foraging expedition ; and it has been re- 
marked that many of the best families in 
the north can trace their descent from the 
daring sons of the mountains. The produce 
(by way of dowry to a laird's daughter) of a 
Michaelmas moon is proverbial ; and by the 
aid of Lochiel's lanthorn (the moon) these 
exploits were the most desirable things im- 
aginable. In the ' Hee Balou' we see one 
of those heroes in the cradle." 

Hee balou !' my sweet wee Donald, 
Picture o' the great Clanronald; 
Brawlie kens our wanton chief 
Wha got my young Highland thief. 



2 Try. 3 Scold. * Bashful. » Rebuke. 
' A cradle-lullaby phrase used by nurses. 



SONGS. 



273 



Leeze me on thy bonny craigie, 
An thou live, thou'lt steal a naigie: 
Travel the country through and 

through. 
And bring hame a Carlisle cow. 

Through the Lawlands, o'er the Bor- 
der, 
VVeel, my baby, may thou furder:^ 
Herry3 tl^e louns o' the laigh countrie, 
Syno 10 the Highlands, hame to me. 



HEEE'S HIS HEALTH IN WATER. 

Tune—" The Job of Tourneywork." 
Although my back be at the wa'. 

And though he be the fautor; 
Although my back be at the wa'. 

Yet, here's his health in water ! 

Oh ! wae gae by his wanton sides, 

Sae brawlie's he could flatter; 
Till for his sake I'm slighted sair. 

And dree' the kintra clatter.^ 
But though my back be at the wa', 

And though he be the fautor; 
But though my back be at the wa', 

Yet, here's his health in water ! 



AMANG THE TREES, WHERE 
HUMMING BEES. 

Tune — " The king of France, he rode a race. " 
Amang the trees, where humming 
bees [0, 

At buds and flowers were hinging, 
Auld Caledon drew out her drone. 
And to her pipe was singing, 0; 
'Twas pibroch, sang, strathspey, or 
reels, 
She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O, 
When there cam a yell o' foreign 
squeels. 
That dang her tapsalteerie,' 0. 

Their capon craws, and queer ha ha's, 
They made our lugs- grow eerie,' 0; 

The hungry bike* did scrape and pike/ 
Till we were wae and weary, 0; 



* Prosper. 
1 Bear. 
^ Topsy-turvey. 
» Pick. 



2 Plunder. 
* Country talk. 
a Ears. 3 Wearj'. * Band. 



But a royal ghaist,^wha ance was cased 
A prisoner aughteen year awa'. 

He fired a fiddler in the north 
That dang them tapsalteerie, 0. 



CASSILLIS' BANKS. 
Tune — Unknown. 
Now bank and brae are claithed in 
green. 
And scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring; 
By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream 
The birdies flit on wanton wing. 
To Cassillis' banks, when e'ening fa's. 

There, wi' my Mary, let me flee. 
There catch her ilka glance of love. 
The bonny blink o' Mary's ee! 

The chield wha boasts o' warld's walth. 

Is aften laird o' meilde care; 
But Mary, she is a' mine ain — 

Ah! Fortune canna gie me mairT 
Then let me range by Cassillis' banks, 

Wi' her, the lassie dear to me. 
And catch her ilka glance o' love. 

The bonny blink o' Mary's ee! 



BANNOCKS 0' BARLET. 

Tune—" The Killogie." 
Bannocks o' bear-meal, 

Bajinocks o' barley; 
Here's to the Highlandman's 

Bannocks o' barley! 
Wha in a brulzie,' 

Will first cry a parley ? 
Never the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley! 

Bannocks o' bear-meal, 

Bannocks o' barley; 
Here's to the Highlandman's 

Bannocks o' barley! 
Wha, in his wae-days, 

Were loyal to Charlie ? 
Wha but the lads wi' 

The bannocks o' barley ? 



SAE FAR AWA'. 

Tune—" Dalkeith Maiden Bridge." 

On, sad and heavy should I part. 
But for her sake sae far awa' ; 



6 Ghost. 



1 Broil. 



374 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Unknowing wliat my way may thwart, 
My native land, sae far awa'. 

Thou that of a' things Maker art, 
That form'd this fair sae far awa', 

Gie body strength, then I'll ne'er start 
At this, my way, sae far awa'. 

How true is love to pure desert, 

So love to her sae far awa' ; 
And nocht can heal my bosom's smart 

While, oh ! she is sae far awa'. 
Nane other love, nane other dart, 

I feel but hers, sae far awa' ; 
But fairer never touch'd a heart 

Than hers, the fair, sae far awa'. 



HER FLOWING LOCKS. 

Tune — Unknown. 

Her flowing locks, the raven's Aving, 
Adown her neck and bosom hing.; 
How sweet unto that breast to cling, 
And round that neck entwine her ! 

Her lips are roses wat wi' dew. 
Oh what a feast her bonny mou'l 
Her cheeks a mair celestial hue, 
A crimson still diviner. 



THE HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

Tune — " If thou'lt play me fair play." 

The bonniest lad that e'er I saw. 

Bonny laddie. Highland laddie. 
Wore a plaid, and was fu' braw. 

Bonny Highland laddie. 
On his head a bonnet blue, 

Bonny laddie, Highland laddie; 
His royal heart was firm and true, 

Bonny Highland laddie. 

Trumpets sound, and cannons roar, 

Bonny lassie. Lowland lassie; 
And a' the hills wi' echoes roar. 

Bonny Lowland lassie. 
Glory, honour, now invite. 

Bonny lassie, Lowland lassie. 
For freedom and my king to fight. 

Bonny Lowland lassie. 

The sun a backward course shall take, 
Bonnie laddie. Highland laddie. 

Ere aught thy manly courage shake. 
Bonny Highland laddie. 



Go ! for yoursel procure renown; 

Bonny laddie. Highland laddie; 
And for your lawful king his crown, 

Bonny Highland Laddie. 



THE LASS THAT MADE THE BED 
TO ME. 

Tune—" The lass that made the bed to me.* 

The poet, in his notes to the Museum, says 
regarding this song :— " ' The bonny lass 
that made the bed to me' was composed on 
an amour of Charles II., when skulking in 
the north about Aberdeen, in the time of 
the usurpation. He formed une petiie 
affaire with a daughter of the house cf 
Port Letham, who was the lass that made 
the bed to him !" 

When Januar' wind was hlawing 
cauld. 

As to the north I took my way, 
The mirksome^ night did me enfauld, 

I knew na where to lodge till day. 

By my good luck a maid I met, 
Just in the middle o' my care; 

And kindly she did me invite 
To walk into a chamber fair, 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid, 
And thank'd her for her courtesie; 

I bow'd fu' low unto this maid. 
And bade her make a bed for me. 

She made the bed baith large and wide, 
Wi' twa white hands she spread it 
down. 
She put the cup to her rosy lips, 
And drank, ' ' Young man, now sleep 
ye soun'." 

She snatch'd the candle in her hand. 
And frae my chamber went wi' speed; 

But I call'd her quickly back again. 
To lay some mair below my head. 

A cod she laid below my head, 
And served me wi' due respect; 

And, to salute her wi' a kiss, 
I put my arms about her neck. 

" Hand oiT your hands, young man,"' 
she says. 

" And dinna sae uncivil be: 
Gif ye hae ony love for me. 

Oh, wrang na my virgiuitie !" 

* Darksome. 



SONGS. 



275 



Her hair was like tlie links o' gowd, 
Her teeth were like the ivorie; 

Her cheeks like lilies dipt in wine. 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

Her bosom was the driven snaw, 
Twa drifted heaps sae fair to see; 

Her limbs the polish'd marble stane, 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

I kiss'd her owre and owre again. 
And aye she wist na what to say; 

I laid her between me and the wa' — 
The lassie thought na lang till day. 

Upon the morrow, when we rose, 
I thank'd her for her courtesie; 

But aye she blush'd, and aye she sigh'd , 
And said, "Alas! ye've ruin'dme." 

I clasp'd her waist, and kiss'd her 
syne, 
While the tear stood twinkling in 
her ee ; 
I said, '• My lassie, dinna cry. 
For ye aye shall mak the bed tome." 

She took her mither's Holland sheets. 
And made them a' in sarks to me: 

Blithe and merry may she be. 
The lass that made the bed to me. 

The bonny lass made the bed to me, 
The braw lass made the bed to me; 

I'll ne'er forget, till the day I die. 
The lass that made the bed to me ! 



THE LASS OP ECCLEFECHAN. 
Tune—" Jacky Latin." 

Gat ye me, oh, gat ye me. 

Oh, gat ye me wi' nae thing? 
Rock and reel, and spinnin' wheel, 

A mickle quarter basin. 
Bye attour,' my gutcher'' has 

A heigh house and a laigh aue, 
A' forbye my bonny sel, 

The toss of Ecclefechan. 

Oh, haud your tongue now, Luckie 
Laing, 

Oh, haud your tongue and jauner;' 
I held the gate till you I met. 

Syne 1 began to wander; 



* Besides. ^ Grandsire. ^ Complaining. 



I tint* my whistle and my sang, 
I tint my peace and pleasure; 

But your green graff^ now, Luckie 
Laing, 
Wad airt'' me to my treasure. 



THE COOPER O' CUDDIE. 

Tune — " Bob at the Bowster." 

The cooper o' Cuddie cam here awa': 
He ca'd the girrs* out owre us a' — 

And our guidwife has gotten a ca' 
That anger'd the silly guidman, 0. 

We'll hide the cooper behind the 

door. 
Behind the door, behind the door, 
We'll hide the cooper behind the 

door, [0. 

And cover him under a mawu,^ 

He sought them ojit, he sought them 

in, 
Wi'. Deil hae her! and, Deil hae him ! 
But the body he was sae doited* and 

blin, 
He wistna where he was gaun, O. 

They cooper'd at e'en, they cooper'd at 

morn. 
Till our guidman has gotten the scorn. 
On ilka brow she's planted a horn, 
And swears that there they shall 

Stan', O. 



THE HIGHLAND WIDOW'S LA- 
MENT. 

Oh ! I am come to the low countrie 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Without a penny in my purse 

To buy a meal to me. 

It wasna sae in the Highland hills, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Nae woman in the country wide 

Sae happy was as me. 

For then I had a score o' kye, 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Feeding on yon hills so high. 

And giving milk to me. 



* Lost. ^ Grave. 

» Hoops. 2 Basket. 



* Direct. 
' Stupid. 



876 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And there I had threescore o' yowes- 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Skipping on yon bonny knowes. 

And casting woo' to me. 

I was the happiest of a' the clan, 

Sair, sair may I repine; 
For Donald was the bra west man. 

And Donald he was mine. 

Till Charlie Stuart cam at last, 

Sae far to set us free; 
My Donald's arm was wanted then 

For Scotland and for me. 

Their waef u' fate what need I tell 1 
Right to the wrang did yield: 

My Donald and his country fell 
Upon CuUoden field. 

Och-on, O Donald, oh ! 

Och-on, och-on, och-rie ! 
Nae woman in the warld wide 

Sae wretched now as me. 



THERE WAS A BONNY LASS. 

There was a bonny lass, 

And a bonny, bonny lass. 
And she lo'ed her bonny laddie dear; 

Till war's loud alarms 

Tore her laddie f rae her arms, 
Wi' mony a sigh and a tear. 

Over sea, over shore. 

Where the cannons loudly roar, 
He still was a stranger to fear; 

And nocht could him quail. 

Or his bosom assail. 
But the bonny lass he lo'ed sae dear. 



OH 



WAT YE WHAT MY MINNIE 
DID? 



Oh, wat ye what my minnie did, 

My minnie did, my minnie did; 
Oh, wat ye what my minnie did, 

On Tysday 'teen to me, jo ? 
She laid me in a saft bed, 

A saft bed, a saft bed, 
She laid me in a saft bed. 

And bade guid e'en to me, jo. 

And wat ye what the parson did, 
. The parson did, the parson did. 



And wat ye what the parson did, 

A' for a penny fee, jo ? 
He loosed on me a lang man, 

A mickle man, a Strang man. 
He loosed on me a lang man. 

That might hae worried me, ja 

And I was but a young thing, 

A young thing, a young thing. 
And I was but a young thing, 

Wi' nana to pity me, jo. 
I wa-t the kirk was in the wyte,* 

In the wyte, in the wyte. 
To pit a young thing in a fright, 

Aiid loose a man on me, jo. 



OH, GUID ALE COMESL 

CHORUS. 

Of, ,<3fuid ale comes, and guid ale goes, 
Guid ale gars' me sell my hose. 
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon, 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon. 

I had sax owsen in a pleugh. 
They drew a' weeleneugh; 
I sell'd them a' just ane by ane; 
Guid ale keeps my heart aboon; 

Guid ale hands me bare and busy. 
Gars me moop^ wi' the sorvant hizzie,' 
Stand i' the stool when I hae done; 
Guid ale keeps my heart y.boon. 



COMING THROUGH THE BRAES 
O' CUPAR. 

Donald Brodie met a lass 

Coming o'er the braes o' Cupa^ 

Donald, wi' his Highland hand, 
Rifled ilka charm about her. 

CHORUS. 
Coming o'er the braes o' Cupar, 
Coming o'er the braes o' Cupar, 
Highland Donald met a lass. 
And row'd his Highland plai4 
about lier. 



1 Makes. 



1 Blame. 
« Romp. 



3 Wench. 



SONGS. 



277 



Weel I vvat she was a quean, 

Wad made a body's moutli to water; 
Our Mess John, wi' his auld gray pow,^ 

His haly lips wad licket at her. 

Off she started in a fright, [bicker;^ 
And through the braes as she could 

But souple Donald quicker flew, 
And in his arms he lock'd her sicker. ^ 



GUID E'EN TO YOU, KIMMER. 

Tune — "' We're a' noddin." 

GuiDe'en to you, kimmer,* 

And how do ye do ? 
Hiccup, quo' kimmer. 

The better that I'm fou. [din, 

We're a' noddin, nid, nid, nod- 
We're a' noddin at our house at 
hame. 

Kate sits i' the neuk,^ 

Suppin' hen broo;* 
Deil tak Kate, 

An she be na noddin tool 

How'si a' wi' you, kimmer. 

And how do ye fare ? 
A pint o' the best o't, 

And twa pints mair. 

How's a' wi' you, kimmer. 

And how do ye thrive ? 
How mony bairns hae ye? 

Quo' kimmer, I hae fiva 

Are they a' Johnny's ? 

Eh! atweel, na: 
Twa o' them were gotten -^ 

When Johnny was awa'. 

Cats like milk, 

And dogs like broo. 
Lads like lasses weel. 
And lasses lads too. [din. 

We're a' noddin, nid, nid, nod- 
We're a' noddin at our house at 
hame. 



J Head. 



^ Lass. 



2 Run. 
2 Corner. 



3 Sure. 



3 Broth. 



MEG- O' THE MHiL. 
Tune — " Jackie Hume's Lament." 

This second version of " Meg o' the Mill," (pt 
252.) prepared by the poet for the Museum, 
was founded on an old ditty, which he al- 
tered and amended. 

Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has 
gotten, [gotten ? 

And ken ye what Meg o' tSe Mill has 

A braw new naig' wi' the tail o' a rot- 
tan, [gotten 1 

And that's what Meg o' the Mill has 

Oh, ken ye what Meg o' the Mill lo'es 
dearly ? [dearly ? 

And ken ye what Meg o' the Mill lo'es 

A dram o' guid struut'^ in a morning 
early, [dearly. 

And that's what Meg o' the Mill lo'es 

Oh, ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was 
married, [married ? 

And ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was 

The priest he was oxter'd, the clerk he 
was carried, [married. 

And that's how Meg 0' the Mill wa3 

Oh, ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was 
bedded, [bedded? 

And ken ye how Meg o' the Mill was 

The groom gat sae fou,^ he fell twa- 
fauld beside it, [bedded. 

And that's how Meg o' the Mill was 



YOUNG JAMIE PRIDE OF A' THE 
PLAIN. 

Tune — " The Carlin o' the Glen." 

Young Jamie, pride of a' the plain, 
Sae gallant and sae gay a swain; 
Through a' our lasses he did rove. 
And reign '-d resistless king of love: 
But now, wi' sighs and starting tears, 
He strays among the woods and briers; 
Or in the glens and rocky caves. 
His sad complaining dowie' raves: 

" I wha sae late did range and rove. 
And changed with every moon my love, 
I little thought the time was near 
Repentance I should buy sae dear: 



• A ndiiig-horsc. ^ Whisky. ^ Drunk, 
> Sadly. 



278 



BURNS' WORKS. 



The sliglited maids my torments see. 
And laugh at a' the pangs I dree;^ 
While she, my cruel, scornfu' fair. 
Forbids me e'er to see her mair 1" 



COMING THROUGH THE RYE. 

Tune — " Coming through the rye." 

Coming through the rye, poor body, 

Coming through the rye. 
She draiglet^ a' her petticoatie. 

Coming through the rye. 

O Jenny's a' wat, poor body, 
Jenny's seldom dry; 

She draiglet a' her petticoatie, 
Coming through the rye. 

Gin^ a body meet a body 

Coming through the rye; 
Gin a body kiss a body — 

Need a body cry ? 

Gin a body meet a body 
Coming through the glen; 

Gin a body kiss a body — 
Need the warld ken ? 



THE CARLES OP DYSART. 

Tune — " Hey, ca' through." 

Up wi' the carles' o' Dysart 
And the lads o' Buckhaven, 

And the kimmers"^ o' Largo, 
And the lasses o' Leven. 

Hey, ca' through, ca'^ through. 
For we hae mickle ado; 

Hey, ca' through, ca' through, 
For we hae mickle ado. 

We hae tales to tell, 

And we hae sangs to sing; 

We hae pennies to spend, 
And we hae pints to bring. 

We'll live a' our days, 

And them that come behin'. 

Let them do the like. 

And spend the gear they win. 

2 Suffer. 

* Soiled, bespattered. * If. 

1 Men. 2 Women. » Push. 



IS THERE, FOR HONEST 
POVERTY. 

Tune — " For a' that and a' that." 

Of the following song — one of the most strik- 
ing and characteristic eifusions of his Muse 
— he says, evidently in a strain of affected 
depreciation : — " A great critic on songs 
says that love and wine are the exclusive 
themes for song-writing. The following is 
on neither subject, and is consequently no 
song ; but will be allowed, I think, to be 
two or three pretty good prose thoughts 
inverted into rhyme." 

Is there, for honest poverty. 

That hangs his head, and a' that ? 
The coward slave, we pass him by. 

We dare be poor for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that; 

Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
The rank is but the guinea- stamp, 

The man's the gowd for a' that. 

What though onliamely fare we dine. 

Wear hodden gray and a' that; 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their 
wine, 

A man's a man for a' that ! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show, and a' that ; 
The honest man, though e'er sae poor. 

Is king o' men for a' that ! 

Ye see yon birkie,* ca'd a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that; 
Though hundreds worship at his word. 

He's but a coof for a' that; 
For a' that, and a' that^ 

His riband, star, and a' that; 
The man of independent mind. 

He looks and laughs at a' that ! 

A king can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that; 
But an honest man's aboon his might, 

Guid faith he maunna^ fa' that! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their dignities, and a' that, 
The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth. 

Are hiffher ranks than a' that. 



1 Fool. 2 " He maunna fa' that" — he must 
not try that. 

* Primarily, the word signifies a lively, 
mettlesome young fellow ; but here the poet's 
meaning would be better rendered by the 
words— a proud, affected person. 



SONGS 



279 



Then let us pray that come it may — 

As come it will for a' that — 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth. 

May bear the gree, and a' that- 
For a' that, and a' that. 

It's comin' yet for a' that, 
Tliat man to man, the warld o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that. 



LASSIE, ART THOU SLEEPING 
YET? 

Tune — " Let me in this ae night." 
LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet, 
Or art thou waking, I would wit ? 
For love has bound me hand and foot. 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

Oh, let me in this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night, 
For pity's sake this ae night, 

Oh, rise and let me in, jo! 

Thou hear'st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks through the driving 

sleet: 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 

And shield me frae the rain, jo. 

The bitter blast that round me blaws. 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's; 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cause 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 

HER ANSWER. 

Ob, tellca me o' wind and rain, 
LTpbraid na me wi' cauld disdain! 
Gae back the gate ye cam again, 
I winua let ye in, jo. 

I tell you now this ^e night, 

Thisae, ae, ae night; 
And ance for a', this ae night, 

I winna let you in, jo. 

The snellest,' blast at mirkest hours. 
That round the pathless wanderer 

pours. 
Is nocht to what poor she endures 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the 

mead, 
Now trodden like the vilest weed; 

1 Sharpest. 



Let simple maid the lesson read. 
The Aveird may be her ain, jo. 

The bird that charm'd his summei 

day 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey; 
Let Avitless, trusting woman say 
How aft her fate's the same, jo. 



THE HERON ELECTION BAL- 
LADS. 

BALLAD I, 

Whobi will you send to London town. 

To Parliament, and a' that ? 
Or wha in a' the country round 
The best deserves to fa' that ? 
For a' that, and a' that. 
Through Galloway and a' that; 
Where is the laird or belted Itnight 
That best deserves to fa' that V 

Wha sees Kerroughtree's open yett,* 

And wha is't never saw that ? 
Wha ever wi' Kerroughtree met. 
And has a doubt of a' that ? 
For a' that, and a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that! 
The independent patriot. 
The honest man, and a' that. 

Though wit and worth in either sex, 

St. Mary's Isle can shaw that; 
Wi' dukes and lords let Selkirk mix. 
And weel does Selkirk fa' that. 
For a' that, and a' that! 
Here's Heron yet for a' that! 
The independent commoner 
Shall be the man for a' that. 

But why should we to nobles jouk?' 

And it's against the law that ; 
For why, a lord may be a gouk^ 
Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that. 
Here's Heron yet for a' that! 
A lord may be a lousy loun 
Wi' ribbon, star, and a' that. 

A beardless boy comes o'er the hills 
Wi' uncle's purse and a' that; 

But we'll hae ane frae 'mang oursels, 
A man we ken, and a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 

1 Gate. 2 Bend. = Fool. 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Here's Heron yet for a' that! 
For we're not to be bought and 

sold 
Like naigs, and nowt/ and a' tliat. 

Then let us drink the Stewartry, 

Kerroughtree's laird, and a' that, 
Our representative to be, 
For weel he's worthy a' that. 
For a' that, and a' that, 
Here's Heron yet for a' thatl 
A House of Commons such as he. 
They would be blest that saw that. 



BAIiLAJ? II. 

Tune — " Fy let us a' to the bridal." 

t^y, let us a' to Kirkcudbright, 
For there will be bickering there; 

For Murray's light horse are to muster. 
And oh, how the heroes will swear ! 

And there will be Murray,' comman- 
der. 
And Gordon,^ the battle to w"in; 
Like brothers they'll stand by each 
otiier, 
Sae knit in alliance and kin. 

And there vnU. be black-nebbit John- 
nie,^ 

The tongue o' the trump to them a'; 
An he gets nahell for his haddin' 

The deil gets na justice ava'; 

And there will be Kempleton's birkie,* 
A boy na sae black at the bane, 

But, as for his fine nabob fortune. 
We'll e'en let the subject alane. 

And there will be Wigton's new sher- 
ifE,5 
Dame Justice fu' brawlie has sped. 
She's gotten the heart of a Bushby, 
But, Lord ! what's become o' the 
head? 

* Cattle. 

1 Murray of Broughton. 

* Gordon of Balmaghie. 

3 Mr. John Bushby, a sharp-witted lawyer, 
for whom the poet had no little aversion. 

^ William Bushby of Kempleton, brother 
of the above, who had made a fortune in In- 
dia, but which was popularly thought to have 
originated in some questionable transactions 
connected with the ruinous affair of the Ayr 
Bank before he went abroad. 

^ iVIr. Bushby Maitland, son of John, and 
recently appointed Sheriff of Wigtonshire. 



And there will be Cardoness,* Esquire, 
Sae mighty in Cardoness' eyes, 

A wight that will weather damnation, 
For the de^dl the prey will despise. 

And there will be Kenmure,'' sae gen- 
erous ! 

Whose honour is proof to the storm; 
To save them from stark reprobation. 

He lent them his name to the firm. 

But we winna mention Redcastle,^ 
The body, e'en let him escape ! 

He'd venture the gallows for siller. 
An, 'twere na the cost o' the rape. 

And where is our king's lord-lieuten- 
ant, 

Sae famed for his gratefu' return ? 
The billie is getting his questions. 

To say in St. Stephen's the morn. 

And there will be Douglases^ doughty, 
Nev/-christening towns far and 
near; 

Abjuring their democrat doings, 
By kissing the of a peer. 

And there will be lads o' the gospel, 
Muirhead,'" wha's as good as he's 
true; 
And there will be Buittle's apostle," 
Wha's mair o' the black than the 
blue. 

And there will be folk frae St. Mary's, 

A house o' great merit and note. 
The deil ane but honours them high- 

The deil ane will gie them his vote ! 

And there will be wealthy young 
Richard, ' ^ [neck ; 

Dame Fortune should hing by the 
For prodigal, thriftless, bestowing, 

His merit had won him respect. 

And there will be rich brother nabobs, 
Though nabobs, yet men of the first, '^ 



^ David INla.xwell of Cardoness. 
^ Mr. Gordon of Kenmure. 
8 Mr. Lawrie of Red castle. 
° Messrs. Douglas of Carlinwark gave the 
name of Castle Douglas to a village which 
rose in their neighbourhood — now a populous 
town. 
'" Rev. Mr. Muirhead, minister of Urr. 
11 Rev. George Maxwell, minister of Buit- 
tie. 
1- P.ichard Oswald of Auchincruive. 
13 The Messrs. Hannay, 



SONGS. 



281 



And there will be Collieston's'"* whisk- 
ers, 
And Quintin,'' o' lads not the warst. 

And there will be stamp-office John- 
nie, i« 
Tak tent how ye purchase a dram; 
And there will be gay Cassencarrie, 
And there will be gleg Colonel 
Tam;^^ 

And there will he trusty Kerrough- 
tree,'* 

Whase honour was ever his law, 
if the virtues were pack'd in a parcel, 

His worth might be sample for a'. 

And strong and respectfu's his backing. 
The maist o' the lairds wi' him stand, 

Nae gipsy-like nominal barons, 
Whase property's paper, but lands. 

And can we forget the auld Major, '^ 
Wha'll ne'er be forgot in the Greys, 

Our flattery we'll keep for some ither, 
Him only it's justice to praise. 

And there will be maiden Kilkerran,^** 
And also Barkskimming's guid 
knight," 

And there will be roaring Birt whistle, '^^ 
Wha luckily roars iu the right. 

And there, frae the Niddisdale border. 
Will mingle the Maxwells in droves; 

Teugh Johnnie, ^3 stanch Geordie,^'* 
and Walie,'^^ 
That griens for the fishes and loaves. 

And there will be Logan M'Dowall,^® 
Sculduddery and he will be there; 

And also the wild Scot o' Galloway, 
Sodgering, gunpowder Blair. '^' 

1* Mr. Copland of Collieston. 

15 Quintin M'Adam of Craigengillan. 

''' Mr. John Syrne, distributor of stamps, 
Dumfries. 

1' Colonel Goldie of Goldielea. 

1" Mr. Heron of Kerroughtree, the Whig 
candidate. 

" Major Heron, brother of the above. 

20 Sir Adam Ferguson of Kilkerran. 

2» Sir William Miller of Barkskimming, af- 
terwards a judge, with the title of Lord Glen- 
lee. 

22 Mr. Birtwhistle of Kirkcudbright. 

22 Mr. Maxwell of Terraughty. 

2* George Maxwell of Carruchan. 

2S Mr. Wellwood Maxwell. 

28 Captain M'Dowall of Logan. 

8' Mr. Blair of Dunsky. 



Then hey the chaste interest o' Brougli- 
ton, [bring 1 

And hey for the blessings 'twill 
It may send Balmaghie to the Com- 
mons, 
In Sodom 'twould make him a king; 

And hey 'for the sanctified Murray,-* 
Our land wha wi' chapels has stored; 

He founder'd his horse amang harlots. 
But gied the auld naig to the Lord. ' 



JOHN BUSHBY'S LAMENTATION. 

BALLAD IIL 

'TwAS in the seventeen hundred year 

0' Christ, and ninety-five. 
That year I was the wae'st man 

0' ony man alive. 

In March, the three-and-twentieth day. 
The sun raise clear and bright; 

But oh, I was a waefu' man 
Ere to-fa' o' the night, 

Yerl Galloway lang did rule this land 

Wi' equal right and fame, 
And thereto was his kinsman join'd, 

The Murray's noble name! 

Yerl Galloway lang did rule the land, 
Made me the judge o' strife; 

But now Yerl Galloway's sceptre's 
broke, 
And eke my hangman's knife, 

'Twas by the banks o' bonny Dee, 
Beside Kirkcudbright towers 

The Stewart and the Murray there 
Did muster a' their powers. 

The Murray, on the auld gray yaud,' 
Wi' winged spurs did.ride. 

That auld gray yaud, yea, Nid'sdale 
rade. 
He staw- upon Nidside. 

And there had been the yerl himsel, 
Oh, there had been nae play; 

But Garlics was to London gane, 
And sae the kye might stray. 



28 Mr. Murray of Broughton, who had aban- 
doned his wife, and eloped with a lady of 
rank. 



I Mare. 



s Stole. 



28? 



BURNS' WORKS. 



And tliere was Balmaghie, I ween, 
In the front rank lie wad shine; 

But Balmaghie had better been 
Drinking Madeira wine. 

Frae the Glenkens came to our aid 

A chief o' doughty deed; 
In case that worth should wanted be, 

0' Kenmure we had need. 

And there, sae grave, Squire Car- 
doness 

Look'd on till a' was done; 
Sae in the tower o' Cardoness, 

A howlet sits at noon. 

And there led I the Bushbys a'; 

My gamesome Billy Will, 
And my son Maitland, wise as brave, 

My footsteps foUow'd still. 

The Douglas and the Heron's name. 
We set nought to their score: 

The Douglas and the Heron's name 
Had felt our weight before. 

But Douglases o' weight had we, 

A pair o' trusty lairds. 
For building cot-houses sae famed. 

And christening kail-yards. 

And by our banners march'd Muirhead, 

And Buittle wasna slack, 
Whose haly priesthood nane can stam. 

For wha can dye the black ? 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS. 

Tune — " Push about the jorum." 

Burns having joined the Dumfries Volunteers 
when they were formed early in 1795, sig- 
nalised that patriotic event by the composi- 
tion of the following' ballad, which after- 
wards became very popular throughout the 
district. 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat ? 

Then let the louns beware.sir; 
There's wooden walls upon our seas. 

And volunteers on shore, sir. 
The Nith shall rin to Corsincon, 

The Griff el sink in Sol way, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally ! 

We'll ne'er permit a foreign foe 
On British ground to rally. 



Oh, let us not, like snarling curs. 

In wrangling be divided; 
Till, slap ! come in an unco loun, 

AJad wi' a rung' decide it. 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united; 
For never but by British hands 

Maun British wrangs be righted ! 
For never, &c. 

The kettle o' the kirk and state. 

Perhaps a clout may fail in't; 
But deil a foreign tinkler loun 

Shall ever ca' a nail in't. 
Our father's bluid the kettle bought, 

And wha wad dare to spoil it ? 
By heavens ! the sacrilegious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it ! 

By heavens, &c. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own. 
And the wretch, his true-sworn 
brother, [throne. 

Wha would set the mob aboon the 

May they be damn'd together ! 
Wha will not sing "God save the 
King " 
Shall hang as high's the steeple; 
But while we sing ' ' God save the 

King," 
We'll ne'er forget the People. 

But while we sing, &c. 



OH, WAT YE WHA'S IN YON 
TOWN? 

Tune — " I'll aye ca' in by yon town." 

Now haply down yon gay green shaw 
She wanders by yon spreading tree; 

How blest ye flowers that round her 
blaw, 
Ye catch the glances o' her ee I 



Oh, wat ye wlia's in yon town, 
Ye see the e'enin' sun upon '? 

The fairest dame's in yon town, 
That e'enin' sun is shining on. 

How blest ye birds thi;t round her 
sing, 
And welcome in the blooming year! 



> Cudgel. 



And doubly welcome be tlio spring, 
The season to my Lucy dear. 

The sun blinks blithe on yon town, 
And on yon bonny braes of Ayr; 

But my delight in yon town. 
And dearest bliss is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a' the charms 
O' Paradise could yield me joy; 

But gie me Lucy in my arms. 
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky I 

My cave wad be a lover's bower, 
Though raging winter rent the air; 

And she a lovely little flower. 

That I wad tent and shelter there. 

Oh, Sweet is she in yon town 

The sinking sun's gane down upon; 

A fairer than's in yon town 

His setting beam ne'er shone upon. 

If angry fate is sworn my foe, 

And suffering I am doom'd to bear, 

I careless quit aught else below. 
But spare me — spare me, Lucy, 
dear I 

For while life's dearest blood is warm 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er de- 
part. 

And she — as fairest is her form! 
She has the truest, kindest heart! 

Oh, wat ye wha's in yon town. 
Ye see the e'enin' sun upon! 

The fairest dame's in yon town 
That e'euin' sun is shining on. 



ADDRESS TO THE WOODLARK. 

Tune — " Where'll bonny Ann lie :" or, 
" Loch-Eroch Side." 

Oh, stay, sweet warbling woodlark, 

stay. 
Nor quit for me the trembling spray; 
A hapless lover courts thy lay. 
Thy soothing, fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part.. 
That I may catch thy melting art; 
For surely that wad touch her heart 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 



Say, was thy little mate unkind. 
And heard thee as the careless wind ? 
Oh, nocht but lov3 and sorrow joiu'd, 
Sic notes o' woe could wauken. 

Thou tells o' never-ending care, 
0' speechless grief and dark despair: 
For pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mairl 
Or my poor heart is broken! 



ON CHLORIS BEING ILL. 

Tune — " Aye wakin', O." 
Can I cease to care ? 

Can I cease to languish. 
While my darling fair 

Is on the couch of anguish ? 

Long, long the night, 

Heavy comes the morrow, 

While my soul's delight 
Is on her bed of sorrow. 

Every hope is fled. 

Every fear is terror; 
Slumber even I dread. 

Every dream is horror. 

Hear me, Powers divine ! 

Oh, in pity hear me i 
Take aught else of mine. 

But my Chloris spare me! 



FORLORN, MY LOVE, NO COM- 
FORT NEAR. 

Tune — " Let me in this ae night." 
FOELORN, my love, no comfort near. 
Far, far from thee, I wander here; 
Far, far from thee, the fate severe 
At which I most repine, love. 

Oh, wert thou, love, but near me; 
But near, near, near me ; 
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, 
And mingle sighs with mine, 
love ! 

Around me scowls a wintry sky. 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy ; 
And shelter, shade, nor home have T, 
Save in those arms of thine, love. 

Cold, alter'd Friendship's cruel part, 
To poison Fortune's ruthless dart — ^ 



284 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Let me not break tliy faithful heart. 
And say that fate is mine, love. 

But dreary though the moments fleet, 
Oh, let me think we yet shall meet 1 
That only ray of solace sweet 
Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 



FRAGMENT— CHLORIS. 

Tune—" Caledonian Hunt's Delight." 
Why, why tell thy lover. 

Bliss he never must enjoy ! 
Why, why undeceive him, 

And give all his hopes the lie ? 

Oh why, while Fancy, raptured, slum- 
bers, 

Chloris, Chloris all the theme ; 
Why, why wouldst thou, cruel. 

Wake thy lover from his dream ? 



MARK YONDER POMP. 

Tune—" Deil tak the Wars." 

Mabk yonder pomp of costly fashion. 
Round the wealthy, titled bride : 

But when compared with real passion. 
Poor is all that princely pride. 
What are the showy treasures ? 
What are the noisy pleasures ? 

The gay gaudy glare of vanity and art: 
The polish'd jewel's l)laze 
May draw the wondering gaze. 
And courtly grandeur bright 
The fancy may delight. [heart. 

But never, never can come near the 

But did you see my dearest Chloris 

In simplicity's array, [is, 

Lovely as yonder sweet opening flower 
Shrinking from the gaze of day; 
Oh then, the heart alarming. 
And all resistless charming, 
In Love's delightful fetters she chains 
the willing soul ! 
Ambition would disown 
The world's imperial crown, 
Even Avarice would deny 
His worshipp'd deity. 
And feel through every vein Love's 
raptures roll. 



OH, BONNY WAS YON ROSY 
BRIER. 

On, bonny was yon rosy brier, [man; 

That blooms sae far frae haunt o' 
And bonny she, and ah, how dear ! 

It shaded frae the e'enin' sun. 

Yon rosebuds in the morning dew. 

How ptire amang the leaves sae 
green; 
But purer was the lover's vow [treen. 

They witness'd in their shade yes- 
All in its rude and prickly bower. 

That crimson rose, how sweet and 
fair ! 
But love is far a sweeter flower 

Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild and wimpling burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine; 

And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn. 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



CALEDONIA. 

Tune—" Humours of Glen." 

"The heroine of this song-," says Cunningf- 
ham, "was Mrs. Burns, who so charmed 
the poet by singing it with taste and feel- 
ing, that he declared it to be one of his 
luckiest lyrics." 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let 

foreign lands reckon. 

Where bright-beaming summers 

exalt their perfume; [breckan,' 

Far dearer to me yon lone glen o' green 

Wi' the burn stealing under the lang 

yellow broom: 

Far dearer tome are yon humble broom 

bowers, [lowly unseen; 

Where the blue-bell and gowan lurk 

For there, lightly tripping amang the 

wild fioAvers, [my Jean. 

A-listening the linnet, aft wanders 

Though rich is the breeze in their gay 

sunny valleys, [wave; 

And cauld Caledonia's blast on the 

Their sweet-scented woodlands that 

skirt the proud palace, 

What are they ? — The haunt o' the 

' tyrant and slave! 



Fern. 



SONGS. 



283 



The slave's spicy forests, and gold- 
bubbling fountains, [dain; 
The brave Caledonian views vrV dis- 
He wanders as free as the winds of Ms 
mountains. 
Save Love's willing fetters — the 
chains o' his Jean. 



'TWAS NA HER BONNY BLUE EE. 

Tune — " Laddie, he near me." 
'TwAS na her bonny blue ee was my 

ruin; [undoing: 

Fair though she be, that was ne'er my 
'Twas the dear sinile when naebody 

did mind us, 
'Twas the bewitching, sweet, stown 

glance o" kindness. 

Sair do I fear that to hope is denied me, 
Sair do I fear that despair maun abide 
me! [to sever, 

But though fell Fortune should fate us 
Queen shall she be in my bosom for- 
ever. 
Mary, I'm thine wi' a passion sincerest. 
And thou hast plighted me love o' the 
dearest ! [alter — 

And thou'rt the angel that never can 
Sooner the sun in his motion would 
falter 



HOW CRUEL AEE THE 
PARENTS! 

ALTERED FEOil AN OLD ENGLISH 
SONG. 
Ti-KE — " John Anderson, my Jo." 
How cruel are the parents 

AMio riches only prize, 
And to the wealthy booby 

Poor woman sacrifice! 
Meanwhile the hapless daughter 

Has but a choice of strife — 
To shun a tyrant father's hate. 
Become a wretched wife. 

The ravening hawk pursuing. 

The trembling dove thus flies, 
To shun impelling ruin 

A while her pinion tries; 
Till of escape despairing, 

No shelter or retreat. 
She trusts the ruthless falconer, 

And drops beneath his feet! 



LAST MAT A BRAW WOOER. 

Tune — " The Lothian Lassie." 

Last May a braw wooer cam down the 

lang glen, [me; 

And sair wi' liis love he did deave 

I said there was naething I hated like 

men, [lieve me. 

The deuce gae wi'm, to believe, be- 

The deuce gae Avi'm, to believe me ! 

He spak o' the darts in my bonny black 

een. 

And vow'd for my love he was dying, 

I said he might die when he liked for 

Jean, Pying, 

The Lord forgie me for lyhig, for 

The Lord forgie me for lying ! 

A weel-stocked mailen^ — himsel for 

the laird — [proffers: 

And marriage aff-hand, were his 

I never loot on that I kennd it, or 

cared, [waur offers. 

But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight 

or less — [her ! 

The deil tak his taste to gae near 

He up the lang loan to my black cousin 

Bess, 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear 

her, could bear her, [her. 

Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear 

But a' the neist week, as 1 fretted wi' 
care, 
I gaed to the tryst o' Dalgamock, 
And wha but my fine fickle lover was 
there ! [warlock, 

I glower'd- as I'd seen a warlock, a 
I glower'd as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owre my left shouther I gae hiT>> 

a blink. 

Lest neebors might say I was saucy; 

My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in 

drink, [dear lassie. 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie. 

I spier'd^ for my cousin f u' couthy and 

sweet, 
Gin she had recover'd her hearin'. 
And how her new shoon fit her aulj 

shachl'f* feet, 



1 Farm. ^ Stared. « Iniiuired. * Distorted, 



286 



BUKNS' WORKS. 



But, heavens ! how lie fell a swear- 
in', a swearin', [in' ! 

But, heavens ! how he fell a swear- 
He begg'd, for guidsake, 1 wad be his 
wife, 

Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow; 
Sae e'en to preserve the poor body his 
life, [to-morrow, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow, 

I think I maun wed him to-morrow. 



THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. 
Tune — " This is no my ain house." 
I SEE a form, I see a face. 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place; 
It wants to me the witching grace. 

The kind love that's in her ee. 

Oh, this is no my ain lassie. 
Fair though the lassie be; 

Oh, weel ken I my ain lassie. 
Kind love is in her ee. 

She's bonny, blooming, straight, and 

tall. 
And lang has had my heart in thrall; 
And aye it charms my very saul. 
The kind love that's in her ee. 

A thief sae pawkie^ is my Jean, 
To steal a blink, by a' unseen; 
But gleg- as light are lovers' een. 
When kind love is in the ee. 

It may escape the courtly sparks. 
It may escape the learned clerks; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that's in her ee. 



NOW SPRING HAS CLAD THE 
GROVE IN GREEN. 

A SCOTTISH SONG. 

Now spring has clad the grove in green. 

And strew'd the lea wi' flowers : 
The furrow'd, waving corn is seen 

Rejoice in fostering showers; 
While ilka thing in nature join 

Their sorrows to forego, 
Oh, why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of woe ? 



Tlie trout within yon wimpling burn 

Glides swift, a silver dart. 
And, safe beneath the shady thorn. 

Defies the angler's art: 
My life was auce that careless stream. 

That wanton trout was I; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam. 

Has scorch'd my fountains dry. 

The little floweret's peaceful lot. 

In yonder cliff that grows, 
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot, 

Nae ruder visit knows, 
Was mine; till love has o'er me past. 

And blighted a' my bloom. 
And now, beneath the withering blast, 

My youth and joy consume. 



The 



laverock, warbling. 



Sly. 



2 Quick. 



waken'd 
springs, 
And climbs the early sky, 
Winnowmg blithe her dewy wings 

In morning's rosy eye; 
As little reckt I sorrow's power. 

Until the flowery snare 
0' witching love, in luckless hour, 
Made me the thrall o' care. 

Oh, had my fate been Greenland snows. 

Or Afric's burning zone, 
Wi' man and nature leagued my foes. 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known ! 
The wretch wliase doom is, " Hope 
nae mair," 

What tongue his woes can tell ! 
Within whase bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 



THE DEAN OF FACULTY. 

A BALLAD. 

Tune—" The Dragon of Wantley." 

DiEE was the hate at old Harlaw, 

That Scot to Scot did carry; 
And dire the discord Langside saw 

For beauteous, hapless Mary: 
But Scot with Scot ne'er met so hot. 

Or were more in fury seen, sir. 
Than 'twixt Hal* and Bobf for the 
famous job — 

Who should be Faculty's Dean, sir. 



* The Hon. Menry Erskine. 

t Robert Dundas. Esq., of Arnlston. 



SONGS. 



287 



This Hal for genius, wit, and lore, 

Amoag the first was number'd; 
But pious Bob, 'mid learniug's store, 

Commandiueut tenth remeuiber'd. 
Yet simple Bob the victory got, 

And won his heart's desire; [pot, 
Which shows that Heaven can boil the 

Though the devil ^in the fire. 

Squire Hal, besides, had in this case 

Pretentions rather brassj, 
For talents to deserve a place 

Are qualifications saucy; 
So their worships of the Faculty, 

Quite sick of merit's rudeness, 
Chose one Avho should owe it all, d'ye 
see. 

To their gratis grace and goodness. 

As once on Pisgah purged was the sight 

Of a son of Circumcision, 
So may be, on this Pisgah height, 

Bob's purblind, mental vision: 
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be open'd yet 

Till for eloquence you hail him. 
And swear he has the Angel met 

That met the Ass of Balaam. 

In your heretic sins may ye live and 
die. 

Ye heretic eight-and-thirty! 
But accept, ye sublime Majority, 

My congratulations hearty. 
With your Honours and a certain King, 

In your servants this is striking — ■ 
The more incapacity they bring. 

The more they're to your liking. 



HEY FOR A LASS WI' A TOCHER. 
Tune — " Balinamona Ora." 

Aw a' wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's 
alarms, [your arms; 

The slender bit beauty you grasp in 

Oh, gie me the lass that has acres o' 
charms, [farms. 

Oh, gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit 

Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher. 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher; 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, 
The nice yellow guineas for me. 

Your beauty's a flower in the morning 

tliat blows, [grows; 

And withers the faster the faster it 



But the rapturous charm o' the bonny 

green knowes, [white yowes. 

Ilk spring they're new deckit wi' bonny 

And e'en when this beauty your bosom 
has blest; [possest; 

The brightest o' beauty may cloy when 

But the sweet yellow darlings wi' 
Geordie imprest, [they're carest. 

The langer ye hae them the m.air 



JESSY. 



Tune—" Here's a health to them that's 
awa'." 

The heroine of this song- was Miss Jessy Lew- 
ars, a kind-hearted, amiable young- crea- 
ture. Her tender and assiduous attentions 
to the poet during his last illness, it is well 
known, greatly soothed his fretted spirit 
and eased his shattered frame. 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 

Hei'e's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond 
lovers meet. 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy! 

Although thou maun never be mine. 
Although even hope is denied; 

'Tis sweeter for thee despairing 

Than aught in the world beside— 
Jessy ! 

I mourn through the gay, gaudy day. 
As, hopeless, I muse on thy charms; 

But welcome the dream o' sweet slum- 
ber, [Jessy ! 
For then I am lockt in thy arms — • 

I guess by the dear angel smile, 
I guess by the love-rolling ee; 

But why urge the tender confession. 
'Gainst Fortune's fell cruel decree ! 
— Jessy ! 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear ! 

Here's a health to ane I lo'e dear! 
Thou art sweet as the smile when fond 
lovers meet. 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessyl 



OH, WERT THOU IN THE CAULD 
BLAST. 

Tune — " The Lass o' Livingstone." 

This fine song is another tribute of the poet's 
Muse to his ministering angel, Miss Jessy 



288 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Lewars. According to the lady's statement, 
as related by Mr. Chambers, the poet hay- 
ing called upon her one morning, said, if 
she would play him any favourite air for 
which she might wish new words, he would 
endeavour to produce something that 
should please her. She accordingly sat 
down to the piano, and played once or twice 
the air of an old ditty beginning with the 
words — 

" The robin cam to the wren's nest, 
And keekit in, and keekit in ; 
Oh, weel's me on your auld pow. 
Wad ye be in, wad ye be in," &c. 

And, after a few minutes' abstraction, the 

fioet produced the following beautiful 
ines : — 

Oh, wert tliou in tlie cauld blast 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea. 
My plaidie to the angry airt, 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee : 
Or did Misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw. 
Thy bield' should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae bleak and bare, sae bleali and 
bare. 
The desert were a paradise, 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there* 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign. 
The brightest jewel in my crown 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen. 



AN EXCELLENT NEW SONG. 

Tune — " Buy Broom Besoms." 

A dissolution of Parliamant having taken 
place in May of this year, a fresh contest 
took place for the Stewartry ot Kirkcud- 
bright, Mr. Heron being on this occasion 
opposed by the Hon. Montgomery Stewart, 
a younger son of the Earl of GallowayJs. 
And the poet, although prostrate from sick- 
ness and confined to his chamber, once more 
took up the pen in the cause of his friend 
Mr. Heron, and produced the following 
satirical ballad against his opponents. A 
great many years ago, a set of vagrant 
dealers called Tro^gers, used to travel about 
the country districts of Scotland, disposing 
of various kinds ot wares, which were 
known by the general name of Troggin. In 
the ballad, the poet has imagined a Trogger 
to be perambulating the country, offering 
the characters of the Tory or Galloway- 
party for sale as Troggin. Mr. Heron again 



1 Shelter. 



succeeded in beating his opponents, but net 
till death had placed the poor poet beyond 
the reach of all earthly joy or sorrow. 

Wha will buy my troggin. 

Fine election ware; 
Broken trade o' Broughton, 
A' in high repair. 
Buy braw troggin, 

Frae the banks o' Dee; 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 

There's a noble earl's 

Fame and high renown,* 

For an auld sang — [stown. 

It's thought the guids were 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth o' Broughtouf 

In a needle's ee ; 
Here's a reputation 

Tint' by Balmaghie.|: 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's an honest conscience 

Might a prince adorn; 
Frae the downs o' Tinwald — 

Sae was never born.§ 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the stuff and lining 

O' Cardoness'head;|| 
Fine for a sodger, 

A' the wale'^ o' lead. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's a little wadset,* 
Buittle's scrap a' truth,'T[ 

Pawn'd in a gin-shop, 
Quenching holy drouth. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's armorial bearings 
Frae the manse o' Urr; 

The crest, and auld crab-apple,* * 
Rotten at the core. 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

I Lost. * Choice. * Mortgage. 
* The Earl of Galloway. 

+ Mr. Murray of Broughton. 

X Gordon of Balmaghie. 

§ A sneering allusion to Mr. Bushby. 

II Maxwell of Cardoness. 

1 Rev. George Maxwell, minister of Buit- 
tie. 

** An allusion to the Rev. Dr. Muirhead. 
minister of Urr, in Galloway. 



SONGS. 



2S9 



Here is Satan's picture, 

Like a bizzard gled/' 
Pouncing poor Redcastle.f f 

Sprawlin' like a taed.* 

Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the font where Douglas 
Stane and mortar names; 

Lately used at Caily 

Christening Murray's crimes. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here's the worth and wisdom 
Collieston:j: X can boast; 

By a thievish midge® 

They had been nearly lost. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Here is Murray's fragments 
0' the ten commands; 

Gifted by black Jock, 

To get them afE his hands. 
Buy braw troggin, &c. 

Saw ye e'er sic troggin ? 

If to buy ye're slack, 
Hornie's'' turnin' chapman— 
He'll buy a' the pack. 
Buy braw troggin 

Frae the banks o' Dee, 
Wha wants troggin 
Let him come to me. 



FAIREST MAID ON DEVON 
BANKS. 

Tune—" Rothemurche." 

In this song — composed during the last months 
of his life, when prostrate with illness and 
oppressed with poverty — his mind wandered 
to the banks of the Devon, where he had 
spent some hsppy days, when in the full 
flush of fame, in the company of the lovely 
Charlotte Hamilton. 

Fairest maid on Devon banks. 
Crystal Devon, winding Devon 

Wilt thou lay that frown aside, 
And smile as thou were wont to 
do? 



Full well thou know'st I love thee, 

dear! 
Couldst thou to malice lend an ear ? 
Oh, did not love exclaim, " Forbear, 

Nor use a faithful lover so." 

Then come, thou fairest of the fair. 
Those wonted smiles, oh, let me share; 
And by thy beauteous self I swear 
No love but thine my heart shall 
know. 



OH, THAT I HAD NE'ER BEEN 

MARRIED. 

The last verse only of this song is Bums'— 
the first is old. 

Oh, that I had ne'er been married, 

I wad never had nae care; 
Now I've gotten wife and bairns. 
And they cry crowdie^ ever mair. 
Ance crowdie, twice crowdie. 

Three times crowdie in a day. 
Gin ye crowdie ony mair, 
Ye'll crowdie a' my meal away. 

Waefu' want and hunger fley'' me, 
Glowering by the hallan en'; 

Sair I fecht them at the door. 
But aye I'm eerie^ they come ben. 



* Kite. 6 Toad. « Gnat. ' Satan, 
tt W. S. Lawrie of Redcastle. 
it Copland of CoUicston. 



THE RUINED MAID'S LAMENT. 

Oh, meikle do I rue, fause love, 

Oh, sairly do I rue, [tongue, 

That e'er I heard your flattering 
That e'er your face I knew. 

Oh, I hae tint' my rosy cheeks, 
Likewise my waist sae sma'; 

And I hae lost my lightsome heart 
That little wist a fs.'. 

Now I maun thole^ the scornf u' sneer 

O' mony a saucy quean ; 
When, gin the truth were a' but kent. 

Her life's been waur than mhie. 

Whene'er my father thinks on me. 

He stares into the wa' ; 
My mitlier, she has ta'en the bed 

Wi' thinkin' on my fa'. 

1 Gruel. 2 Fright. ^ Afraid. 
» Lost. « Bear. 



290 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Whene'er I hear my father's foot, 
My heart wad burst wi' pain, 

Whene'er I meet my mither's ee, 
My tears riu down like rain. 

Alas ! sae sweet a tree as love 
Sic bitter fruit should bear ! 

Alas ! that e'er a bonny face 
Should draw a sauty tear ! 

But Heaven's curse will blast the man 

Denies the bairn he got, 
Or leaves the painfu' lass he loved 

To wear a ragged coat. 



KATHERINE JAFFRAY. 

There lived a lass in yonder dale. 
And down in yonder glen, ! 

And Katherine Jaffray was her name, 
Weel known to many men, O 1 

Out came the Lord of Lauderdale, 
Out frae the south countrie, O ! 

All for to court this pretty maid. 
Her bridegroom for to be, ! 

He 's teird her father and mother 
baith, 

As I hear sundry say, ! 
But he hasna tell'd the lass hersel, 

Till on her wedding day, ! 

Then came the Laird o' Lochinton, 
Out frae the English Border, 

All for to court this pretty maid, 
All mounted in good order. 



ROBIN SHURE m HAIRST. 

CHORUS. 

Robin shure in hairst,' 

I shure wi' him; 
Fient a heuk^ had I, 

Yet I stack by him. 

I gaed up to Dunse, 

To warp a wab o' plaiden ; 
At his daddie's yett, ^ 

Wha met me but Robin ? 

Was na Robin bauld, 
Though 1 was a cotter ; 



Play'd me sic a trick, 

And me the eller's dochter ?* 

Robin promised me 

A' my winter vittle ; 
Fient haet^ had he but three 

Goose feathers and a whittle. 



SWEETEST MAY. 

Sweetest May, let love inspire thee ; 
Take a heart which he desires thee ; 
As thy constant slave regard it ; 
For its faith and truth reward it. 

Proof o' shot to birth or money. 
Not the wealthy, but the bonny ; 
Not highborn, but noble-minded. 
In love's silken band can bind it ! 



^ Reaped in harvest. ^ Sickle. ^ Gate. 



WHEN I THINK ON THE HAPPY 
DAYS. 

When I think on the happy days 
I spent wi' you, my dearie ; 

And now what lands between us lie. 
How can I be but eerie ! 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours. 
As ye were wae and weary ! 

It was na sae ye glinted by 
When I was wi' my dearie. 



HUNTING SONG. 
Tune — " I rede you beware at the hunting^."' 

The heather was blooming, the mea- 
dows were mawn, [dawn. 

Our lads gaed a-hunting ae day at the 

O'er moors and o'er mosses, and mony 
a glen, [moor hen. 

At length they discover'd a bonny 

I rede you beware at the hunting, 
young men; [young men; 

I rede you beware at the hunting, 
Tak some on the wing, and some 
as they spring; [hen. 

But cannily steal on a bonny moor- 
Sweet brushing the dew from the 
brown heather bells, [fells; 

Hsr colours betray'd her on yon mossy 

* Elder's daughter, ' Nothing^. 



SONGS. 



:rt 



Her plumage outlustered tlie pride o' 

the spring, [wing. 

And oh, as she wanton'd gay on the 

Auld Phcebus himsel, as he peeped 
o'er the hill, [skill, 

In spite, at her plumage he tried his 

He levell'd his rays, wliere she bask'd 
on the brae — 

His rays were outshone, and but 
mark'd where she lay. 

They hunted the valley, they hunted 
the hill, [skill, 

The best of our lads wi' the best o' their 

But still as the fairest she sat in their 
sight, [flight. 

Then, whirr I she was over a mile at a 



OH, ATE MY WIFE SHE DANG 

ME. 
Tune — " My wife she dang me." 

Oh, aye my wife she dang me. 

And aft my v/ife did bang me; 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 

Guid faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye. 
On peace and rest my mind was bent, 

And fool I was I married; 
But never honest man's intent 

As cursedly miscarried. 

Some sairie comfort still at last. 

When a' their days are done, man; 
My pains o' hell on earth are past, 

I'm sure o' bliss aboon, man. 
Oh, aye my wife she dang me. 

And aft my wife did bang me; 
If ye gie a woman a' her will, 

Guid faith, she'll soon o'ergang ye. 



BROSE AND BUTTER. 

Oh, gie my love brose, brose, 
Gie my love brose and butter; 

For nane in Carrick or Kyle 
Can please a lassie better. 

The laverock lo'es the grass, 
The moor-hen loe's the heather; 

But gie me a braw moonlight, 
Me and my love together. 



OH, WHA IS SHE THAT LO'ES 
ME? 
Tune — " Morag." 
Oh, wha is she that lo'es me. 

And has my heart a-keeping ? 
Oh, sweet is she that lo'es me. 
As dews o' simmer weeping. 
In tears the rosebuds steeping I 

chorus. 

Oh, that's the lassie o' my heart. 

My lassie ever dearer; 
Oh, that's the queen of womankind. 

And ne'er a ane to peer her. 

If thou shalt meet a lassie. 
In grace and beauty charming. 

That e'en thy chosen lassie, 

Erewhile thy breast sae warming, 
Had ne'er sic powers alarming; 

If thou hadst heard her talking. 
And thy attentions plighted. 

That ilka body talking. 

But her by thee is slighted. 
And thou art all delighted; 

If thou hadst met this fair one; 
When f rae her thou hast parted. 

If every other fair one, 

But her thou hast deserted, 
And thou art broken-hearted. 



DAMON AND SYLVIA. 

Tune — " The tither morn, as I forlorn." 

Yon wandering rill that marks the hill. 
And glances o'er the brae, sir. 

Slides by a bower, where mony a 
flower 
Sheds fragrance on the day, sir. 

There Damon lay, with Sylvia gay. 
To love they thouglit nae crime, sir; 

The Avild-birds sang, the echoes rang, 
While Damon's heart beat time, sir. 



SHELAH O'NEIL. 

When first I began for to sigh and to 

woo her, [deal. 

Of many fine things I did say a great 



S93 



BURNS' WORKS. 



But, above all the rest, that which 
pleased her the best 
Was, Oh, will you marry me, Shelah 
O'Neil ? 
My point I soon carried, for straight 
we were married. 
Then the weight of my burden I 
soon 'gan to feel, — 
For she scolded, she fisted, oh, then 
I enlisted. 
Left Ireland, and whisky, and 
Shelah O'NeU. 

Then, tired and dull-hearted, oh, then 
I deserted. 
And fled into regions far distant 
from home ; 
To Frederick's army, where none e'er 
could harm me. 
Save Shelah herself, in the shape of 
a bomb. 
I fought every battle, where cannons 
did rattle, 
Felt sharp shot, alas ! and the sharp- 
pointed steel ; 
But in all my wars round, thank my 
stars, I ne'er found 
Aught so sharp as the tongue of 
cursed Shelah O'Neil. 



THERE'S NEWS, LASSES, NEWS. 

There's news, lasses, news, 
Guid news I have to tell ; 

There's a boatfu' o' lads 
Come to our town to sell, 



CHORUS. 

The wean' wants a cradle. 

And the cradle wants a cod,* 
And I'll no gang to my bed 

Until I get a nod. 

Father, quo' she, Mither, quo' she. 

Do what you can ; 
1 11 no gang to my bed 

Till I get a man. 

I hae as guid a craft rig 
As made o' yird and stane ; 

And waly fa' the ley-crap. 
For I maun till'd again. 



THERE WAS A WIFE. 

There was a wife wonn'd in Cockpen, 

Scroggam ; 
She brew'd guid ale for gentlemen. 
Sing, auld Cowl, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, rufium. 

The guidwife's dochter fell in a fever, 

Scroggam , 
The priest o' the parish fell in anither. 
Sing, auld Cowl, lay you down by mo, 
Scroggam, my dearie, rufEum. 

They laid the twa i' the bed thegither, 

Scroggam ; 
That the heat o' the tane might cool 

the titlier. 
Sing, auld Caul, lay you down by me, 
Scroggam, my dearie, ruffum. 



» Child. 



a Pillow. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONGS 
AND BALLADS, 

ANCIENT AND MODERN ; 

WITH ANECDOTES OF THEIR AUTHORS. 

BY 

ROBERT BURNS. 



" There needs na be so great a phrase, 
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays, 
I wadna gie our ain Strathspeys 

For half a hundred score o' 'em; 
They're douff and dowie, at the best, 
Douff and dowie, douff and dowie ; 
They're douff and dowie a' the best, 

Wi' a' their variorum : 
They're douff and dowie at the best, 
Their allegroes, and at the rest, 
They cannot please a Scottish taste, 

Compared wi' Tullochgorum." 

Rev. John Skinner. 



"The following Remarks on Scottish 
Song," says Cunningliam, "exist in 
tlie handwriting of Burns, in an inter- 
leaved copy of the first four volumes 
of Johnson's Musical Museum, w^iiidi 
the poet presented to Captain Eiddel, 
of Friar's Carse. On the death of 
Mrs. Riddel, these precious volumes 
passed into the hands of her niece, 
Eliza Bayley, of Manchester, who 
kmdly permitted Mr. Croniek to tran- 
scribe and publish them in his volume 
of the Reliques of Burns." 



THE HIGHLAND QUEEN. 
The Highland Queen, music and 
poetry, was composed by Mr. M'Vicar, 
purser of the Solebay man-of war. — 
This I had from Dr. Blacklock. 



The Highland King, intended as a parody 
on the former, v/as the production of a young 
lady, the friend of Charles Wilson, of Edin- 
burgh, who edited a collection of songs, en- 
titled " Cecilia," which appeared in 1779. 

The following are specimens of these 
songs : — 

THE HIGHLAND QUEEN. 

How blest that youth whom gentle fate 
Has destined for so fair a mate ! 
Has all these wond'riug gifts in store, 
And each returning day brings more ; 
No youth so happy can be seen. 
Possessing thee, my Highland Queen. 



THE HIGHLAND KING. 

Jamie, the pride of a' the green, 
Is just my age, e'en gay fifteen : 
When first I saw him, 'twas the day 
That ushers m the sprightly May; 
Then first I felt love's powerful sting. 
And sigh'd for my dear Highland King. 



294 



BURNS' WORKS. 



THE HIGHLAND QUEEN. 

No sordid wish, nor trifling joy, 
Her settled calm of mind destroy ; 
Strict honour fills her spotless soul, 
And adds a lustre to the whole : 
A matchless shape, a graceful mien, 
All centre in my Highland Queen. 

THE HIGHLAND KING. 

Would once the dearest boy but say 
'Tis you I love ; come, come away 
Unto the Kirk, my love, let's hie — 
Oh me ' in rapture I comply • 
And I should then have cause to sing 
The praises of my Highland King. 



BESS THE GAWKIE.* 

This song shows that the Scottish 
Muses did not all leave us when we 
lost Ramsay and Oswald ;f as 1 have 
good reason to believe that the verses 
and music are both posterior to the 
days of these two gentlemen. It is a 
beautiful song, and in the genuine 
Scots taste. We have few pastoral 
compositions, I mean the pastoral of 
nature, that are equal to this. 

Blithe young Bess to Jean did say. 

Will ye gang to yon sunny brae, 

Where flocks do feed, and herds do stray, 

And sport awhile wi' Jamie? 
Ah, na, lass, I'll no gang there. 
Nor about Jamie tak nae care. 
Nor about Jamie tak nae care, 

i^or he's ta'en up wi' Maggy ! 

For hark, and I will tell you, lass, 
Did I not see your Jamie pass, 
Wi' nieikle gladness in his face, 

Out o'er the muir to Maggy ? 
I wat he gae her mony a kiss. 
And Maggy took them ne'er amiss • 
'Tween ilka smack, pleased her with this, 

That Bess was but a gawkie. 

But whist ! — nae mair of this we'll speak. 
For yonder Jamie does us meet. 
Instead of Meg he kiss'd sae sweet, 

I trow he likes the gawkie. 
Oh, dear Bess, 1 hardly knew, 
When I came by, your gown's sae new, 
1 think you've got it wet wi' dew , 

Quoth she, that's like a gawkie. 



* The Rev. James Muirhead. minister of 
Urr, in Galloway, and ^yhose name occurs in 
the Heron Ballads, and other of the poet's 
satirical pieces, was the author of this song. 

t He was a London music-seller, and pub- 
lished a collection of Scottish tunes, entitled, 
" The Caledonian's Pocket Companion." 



The lassies fast frae him they flew. 
And left poor Jamie sair to rue 
That ever Maggy's face he knew. 

Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie. 
As they went o'er the muir they sang'. 
The hills and dales with echoes rang^ 
The hills and dales with echoes rang. 

Gang o'er the muir to Maggy. 



OH, OPEN THE DOOR, LORD 
GREGORY 

It is somewhat singular that in Lan- 
ark, Renfrew, Ayr, Wigton, Kirkcud- 
bright, and Dumfries shires, there is 
scarcely an^ld song or tune which, 
from the title, &c , can be guessed to 
belong to, or be the production of, these 
counties. This, I conjecture, is one of 
these very few; as the ballad, which is 
a long one, is called, both by tradition 
and in printed collections, ' •' The Lass 
of Lochroyan," which I take to be 
Lochroyan in Galloway. 

Oh, open the door. Lord Gregory, 

Oh, open and let me in ; 
The wind blows through my yellow hair. 

The dew draps o'er my chin 
If you are the lass that I loved once. 

As I trow you are not she. 
Come gie me some of the tokens 

That pass'd 'tween you and me. 

Ah, wae be to you, Gregory ! 

An ill death may you die ; 
You will not be the death of one. 

But you'll be the death of three. 
Oh, don't you mind. Lord Gregory? 

'Twas down at yonder burn side 
We changed the ring off our fingers, 

And I put mine on thine. 



THE BANKS OP THE TWEED. 

This song is one of the many attempts 
that English composers have made to 
imitate the Scottish manner, and which 
I shall, in these strictures, beg leave to 
disthiguish by the appellation oi Anglo- 
Scottish productions. The music is 
pretty good, but the verses are just 
above contempt. 

For to visit my ewes and to see my lambs play. 
By the banks of the Tweed and the groves I 

did stray, [sigh'd. 

But my Jenny, dear Jenny, how oft have I 
And have vow'd endless love if you would be 

my bride. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



395 



To the altar of Hymen, my fair one, repair. 
Where a knot of affection shall tie the fond 

pair, [will we lead, 

Trj the pipe's sprightly notes the gay dance 
And will bless the dear grove by the banks of 

the Tweed. 



THE BEDS OF SWEET ROSES. 

This song, as far as I know, for tlio 
first time appears here in print. — 
When I was a boy, it was a very popular 
Bong in Ayrshire. I remember to have 
heard those fanatics, the Buchanites, 
sing some of their nonsensical rhymes, 
which they dignify with the name of 
hymns, to this air. 

As I was walking one morning in May, [gay ; 
The little birds were singing delightful and 
The little birds were .singing delightful and 
gay ; [play. 

Where I and my true love did often sport and 

Down among the beds of sweet roses, [play. 
Where I and my true love did often sport and 

Down among the beds of sweet roses. 

My daddy and my mammy I oft have heard 
them say, [and play ; 

That I was a naughty boy, and did often sport 

But I never liked in all my life a maiden that 
was shy, 

Down among the beds of sweet roses. 



ROSLIN CASTLE. 

These beautiful verses were the pro- 
duction of a Richard Hewit, a young 
man that Dr. Blacklock (to whom I am 
indebted for the anecdote) kept for 
some years as an amanuensis.* I do not 
know who is the author of the second 
song to the same tune. Tytler, in his 
amusing history of Scottish music, 
gives the air to Oswald; but in Os- 
wald's own collection of Scots tunes, 
when he affixes an asterisk to those he 
himself composed, he does not make 
the least claim to the tune. 

'TwAS in that season of the year. 
When all things gay and sweet appear, 
That Colin, with the morning ray, 
Arose and sung his rural lay. 
Of Nanny's charms the shepherd sung. 
The hills and dales with Nanny rung ; 
While Roslin Castle heard the swain, 
And echo'd back the cheerful strain. 

* This gentleman subsequently became 
Secretary to Lord Milton, (then Lord Justice- 
Clerk,) but the fatiguing nature of his duties 
in that position hurt his health, and he died in 
1794. 



Awake, sweet Muse ! the breathing spring 
With rapture warms ; awake and sing ! 
Awake and join the vocal throng 
Who hail the morning with a song; 
To Nanny raise the cheerful lay. 
Oh, bid her haste and come away ; 
In sweetest smiles herself adorn. 
And add new graces to the morn ! 

Oh, hark, my love ! on every spray 
Each feather'd warbler tunes his lay ; 
'Tis beauty fires the ravish'd throng. 
And love inspires the melting song : 
Then let my raptured notes arise. 
For beauty darts from Nanny's eyes ; 
And love my rising bosom warms. 
And fills my soul with sweet alarms. 

SECOND VERSION. 

From Roslin Castle's echoing walls. 
Resound ray shepherd's ardent calls ; 
My Colin bids me come away. 
And love demands I should obey. 
His melting strain, and tuneful lay, 
So much the charms of love display, 
I yield— nor longer can refrain. 
To own my love, and bless my swain. 

No longer can my heart conceal 
The painful-pleasing flame I feel : 
My soul retorts the am'rous strain ; 
And echoes back in love again. [grove 
Where lurks my songster ? from what 
Does Colin pour his notes of love ? 
Oh, bring me to the happy bower, 
Where mutual love may bliss secure ! 

Ye vocal hills, that catch the song, 
Repeating as it flies along. 
To Colin's ears my strain convey. 
And say, I haste to come away. 
Ye zephyrs soft, that fan the gale, 
Waft to my love the soothing tale ; 
In whispers all my soul express. 
And tell I haste his arms to bless ! 

Oh ! come, my love ! thy Colin's lay 
With rapture calls, oh, come away! 
Come while the muse this wreath shall 

twine 
Around that modest brow of thine : 
Oh ! hither haste, and with thee bring 
That beauty blooming like the spring ; 
Those graces that divinely shine, 
And charm this ravish'd breast of mine ! 



SAW YE JOHNNIE CUMMIN? 
QUO' SHE. 

This song, for genuine humour in 
the verses, and lively originality in the 
air, is unparalleled. I take it to be 
very old. 

Saw ye Johnnie cummin ? quo' she,' 

Saw ye Johnnie cummin. 
Oh, saw ye Johnnie cummin, quo'she ; 

Saw ye Johnnie cummin, 



SS5 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Wi' his blue bonnet on his head, 
And his doggie runnin'. quo' she ; 
And his doggie runnin ? 

Fee him, father, fee him, quo' she ; 

Fee him, (ather, fee him 
For he is a gallant lad. 

And a weel doin' ; 
And a' the wark about the house 

Gaes wi me when I see hxm, quo' she ; 

Wi' me when I see him. 

What will I do wi' him, hussy? 

What will I do wi' him ? 
He's ne'er a sark upon his back, 

And I hae nana to gie him. 
I hae twa sarks into my kist, 

And ane o' them I'll gie him. 
And for a mark of mair fee, 

Dmna stand wi' him, quo' she; 

Dinna stand wi' him. 

For weel do I lo'e him, quo' she : 

Weel do I lo'e him , 
Oh, fee him, father, fee him, quo' she ; 

Fee him, father, fee him , 
He'll haud the pleugh, thrash i' the barn, 

And he wi' me at e'en, quo' she , 

Lie wi' me at e'en. 



CLOUT THE CALDRON. 

A TKADITION is mentioned in the 
Bee, tliat the second Bishop Chishohn, 
of Dunblane, used to say that, if he 
were going to be hanged, nothing 
w-ould soothe his mind so much by the 
way as to hear " Clout the Caldron" 
played. 

I have met with another tradition, 
that the old song to this tune, 

Hae ye ony pots or pans, 
Or ony broken chanlers, 

was composed on one of the Kenmure 
family in the cavalier times, and al- 
luded to an amour he had, while un- 
der hiding, in the disguise of an itiner- 
ant tinker The air is also known by 
the name of 

" The Blacksmith and his Apron," 

which, from the rhythm, seems to 
have been a line of some old song to 
the tune 

Hae ye ony pots or pans. 

Or ony broken chanlers ? 
For I'm a tinker to my trade, 

And newly come frae Flanders, 
As scant o' siller as o' grace. 

Disbanded, we've a bad run ; 
Gang tell the lady o' the place, 

I'm come to clout her caldron." 



Madam, if ye hae wark for me, 

I'll do't to your contentment. 
And dmna care a single flie 

For ony man's resentment : 
For, lady fair, though I appear 

To every ane a tinker, 
Yet to yoursel I'm bauld to tell 

I am a gentle j inker. 

Love, Jupiter into a swan 

Turn'd for his lovely Leda; 
He like a bull o'er meadows ran, 

To carry off Europa. 
Then may not I, as well as he. 

To cheat your Argus blinker. 
And win your love, like mighty Jove, 

Thus hide me in a tinker ? 

Sir, ye appear a cunning man. 

But this fine plot ye'llfail in. 
For there is neither pot nor pan 

Of mine ye'll drive a nail in. 
Then bind your budget on your back. 

And nails up m your apron. 
For I've a tinker under tack 

That's used to clout my caldron. 



SAW TE NAE MY PEGGY ? 

This charming song is much older, 
and indeed superior to Ramsay's verses, 
"The Toast," as he calls them. 
There is another set of the words, 
much older still, and which I take to 
be the original one; but though it has 
a very great deal of merit, it is not 
quite ladies' reading. 

The original words, for they can 
scarcely be called verses, seem to be as 
follows; a song familiar from the cra- 
dle to every Scottish ear: — 

Saw ye my Maggie, 
Saw ye my Maggie, 
Saw ye my iVl aggie 
Linkin o'er the lea ? 

High kilted was she. 
High kilted was she. 
High kilted was she. 
Her coat aboon her knee. 

What mark has your Maggie, 
What mark has your Maggie, 
What mark has your Maggie, 
That ane may ken her be ? (by.)* 



* The following verse was added by ita 
Ettrick Shepherd . — 

Maggie's a lovely woman, 
She proves true to no man. 
She proves true to no man. 
And has proven false to vsi&» 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



297 



Tliougli it by no means follows that 
the silliest verses to an air must, for 
that reason, be the original song, yet 
I take this ballad, of which i have 
quoted part, to be the old verses. 
The two songs m Ramsay, one of tliem 
evidently his own, are never to be met 
with in the fireside circle of our peas- 
antry; while that which I take to be 
the old song, is in every shepherd's 
mouth. Ramsay, I suppose, had 
thought the old verses unworthy of a 
place in his collection. 

Saw ye nae my Peggy, 
Saw ye nae my Peggy, 
Saw ye nae my Peggy, 

Coming o'er the lea? 
Sure a finer creature 
Ne'er was form'd by nature, 
So complete each feature. 

So divine is she. 

Oh ! how Peggy charms me ! 
Every look still warms me ; 
Every thought alarms me ; 

Lest she love nae me. 
Peggy doth discover 
Nought but charms all over ; 
Nature bids me love her, 

That's a law to me. 

Who would leave a lover. 
To become a rover ? 
No, I'll ne'er give over. 

Till I happy be ! 
Tor since love inspires me. 
As her beautj' fires me, 
And her absence tires me, 

Nought can please but she. 

When I hope to gain her, 
Fate seems to detain her. 
Could I but obtain her, 

Happy would I be ! 
I'll lie down before her. 
Bless, sigh, and adore her, 
With faint look implore her 

Till she pity me ! 



THE FLOWERS OF EDINBURGH. 

This song is one of the many clTu- 
sions of Scots Jacobitism. The title 
" Flowers of Edinburgh" has no man- 
ner of connection with the present 
verses; so I suspect there has been an 
older set of words, of which the title is 
all tiiat remains. 

By the by, it is singular enough that 
the Scottish ISIuses were all Jacobites. 
I have paid more attention to every 
description of Scots songs than per- 



haps any body living has done; and I 

do not recollect one single stanza, or 
even tlic title of the most trilling Scots 
air, which has the least panegyrical 
reference to tlie families of Nassau or 
Brunswick, while there are hundreds 
satirising them. This may be thought 
no panegyric on the Scots poets, but I 
mean it as such. For myself, I would 
always take it as a compliment to have 
it said that my heart ran before my 
head; and surely the gallant though 
unfortunate house of Stuart, the kings 
of oar fathers for so many heroic ageo, 
is a theme much more interesting than 



My love was once a bonny lad : 
He was the flower of a' his kin ; 

The absence of his bonny face 

Has rent my tender heart in twain. 

I day nor night find no delight — 
In silent tears I still complain ; 

And exclaim 'gainst those, my rival foes. 
That liae ta'en fra me my darling swain. 

Despair and anguish fill my breast 

Since I have lost my blooming rose; 
I sigh and moan while others rest ; 

His absence yields me no repose. 
To seek my love I'll range and rove 

Through ever)' grove and distant plain; 
Tlius I'll never cease, but spend my days 

T' hear tidings from my darUng swain. 

There's nothing strange in nature's chaiig,e. 

Since parents show such cruelty ; 
They caused my love from me to range. 

And know not to what destiny. 
The pretty kids and tender lambs 

May cease to sport upon the plain ; 
But I'il mourn and lament, in deep discontent. 

For the absence of my darling swain. 



JAMIE GAY. 

J.onE CAY is another and a tolerable 
Anglo-Scottish piece. 

Of Jamie Gay, it will be enough to quote 
the first lines : — 

" As Jamie Gay gang'd blithe his way." 

A Scottish bard would have written : — 

" As Jamie Gay gaed blithe his %yay." 

The song was originally entitled " The Hap- 
py Meeting," and frequently Ubed to be sung 
at Rauelagh witli great applause. 



MY DEAR JOCKEY 
Another Anglo-Scottish produc- 
tion. 

We subjoin the first two verses of the lady's 
lament : — 



298 



BURNS' WORKS. 



My laddie is gane far away o'er the plain, 
While in sorrow behind I am forced to re- 
main ; [adorn, 
Though blue bells and violets the hedges 
Though trees are in blossom and sweet blows 
the thorn, [gay , 
No pleasure they give me, in vain they look 
There's nothing can please me now Jockey's 

away , 
Forlorn 1 sit smging, and this is my strain, 
"■ Haste, haste, my dear Jockey, to me back 
again." 

When lads and their lasses are on the green 
met, [they chat ; 

They dance and they sing, and they laugh and 
Contented and happy, with hearts full of glee, 
I can't, without enw, their merriment see : 
Those pleasures offend me, my shepherd's 

not there ' 
No pleasure I relish that Jockey don't share ; 
It makes me to sigh, I from tears scarce re- 
frain, 
I wish my dear Jockey return d back again. 



FYE 



GAE RUB HER O'ER WI' 
STRAE. 



It is self-evident tliat tlie first four 
lines of this song are part of a song 
more ancient than Ramsay's beautiful 
verses which are annexed to them. 
As music is the language of nature, 
and poetrj', particularly songs, is al- 
ways less or more localised (if I may 
be allowed the verb) by some of the 
modifications of time and place, this is 
the reason why so many of our Scots 
airs have outlived their original and 
perhaps many subsequent sets of ver- 
ses, except a single name or phrase, or 
sometimes one or two lines, simply to 
distinguish the tunes by. 

To this day, among people who know 
nothing of Ramsay's verses, the follow- 
ing is the song, and all the song that 
ever I heard; 

Gin ye meet a bonny lassie, 
Gie her a kiss and let her gae ; 

But gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. 

Fye, gae rub her, rub her, rub her, 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae . 

And gin ye meet a dirty hizzie, 
Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' strae. 

" Ramsay's spirited imitation," says Cromek, 
"of the ^ Vides tit alte stet nive candidum, 
Socrate ' of Horace, is considered as one of the 
happiest efforts of the author's genius." — For 
an elegant critique on the poem, and a com- 



parison of its merits with those of the original, 
the reader is referred to Lord Woodhouselee's 
"■ Reinarks on the Writings q/ Ramsay." 

Look up to Pentland's towering tap, 
Buried beneath great wreaths of snaw, 

O'er ilka cleugh, ilk scar, and slap, 
As high as ony Roman wa'. 

Driving their baws frae whins or tee, 
There are nae gowfers to be seen ; 

Nor dousser fowk wysing a-jee 
The byass-bouls on Tamson's Green. 

Then fling on coals, and ripe the ribs. 
And beek the house baith but and ben ; 

That mutchkin stowp it hauds but dribs, 
Then let's get in the tappit hen. 

Good claret best keeps out the cauld, 
And drives away the winter soon ; 

It makes a man baith gash and bauld. 
And heaves his soul beyond the moon. 

Let next day come as it thinks fit, 
The present minute's only ours. 

Op pleasure let's employ our wit. 
And laugh at Fortune's fickle powers. 

Be sure ye dinna quit the grip 
Of ilka joy, when ye are young, 

Before auld age your vitals nip, 
And lay ye twafald o'er a rung. 

Now to her heaving bosom cling, 
And sweetly tastie for a kiss , 

Frae her fair finger whoop a ring, 
As token of a future bliss. 

These benisons, I'm very sure. 
Are of the gods' indulgent grant : 

Then surly carles, whist, forbear 
To plague us wi' your whining cant. 

Sweet youth's a blithe and heartsome time; 

Then, lads and lasses, while 'tis May, 
Gae pu' the gowan in its prime, 

Before it wither and decay. 

Watch the saft minutes of delyte. 
When Jenny speaks beneath her breath, 

And kisses, laying a' the wyte 
On you, if she kept ony skaith. 

" Haith, ye're ill-bred," she'll smiling say; 

" Ye'll worry me, ye greedy rook • " 
Syne frae yer arms she'll rin away. 

And hide hersel in some dark nook. 

Her laugh will lead you to the place 
Where lies the happiness you want, 

And plainly tells you, to your lace. 
Nineteen nay-says are half a grant. 

The song of " Fye, gae rub her o'er wi' 

strae" is composed of the first four lines men- 
tioned by Burns, and the seven concluding 
verses of Ramsay's spirited and elegant Scot- 
tish version of Horace's ninth Ode, givea 
above. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



299 



THE LASS OF LIVINGSTON. 

The old song, in three eiglit-line 
stanzas, is well known, and has merit 
as to wit and liumour; but it is rather 
unfit for insertion. — It begins: 

" The bonny loss o' Livingston, 

Her name ye ken, her name ye ken, 
And she has written in her contract. 
To He her lane, to lie her lane," &c., &c. 

The modern version by Allan Ramsay is as 
follows : — 

Pain'd with her slighting Jamie's love, 

Bell dropt a tear. Bell dropt a tear ; 
The g-ods descended from above. 

Well pleased to hear, well pleased to hear. 
They heard the praises of the youth [tongue. 

From her own tongue, from her own 
Who now converted was to truth. 

And thus she sung, and thus she sung : 

Bless'd days, when our ingenuous sex. 

More frank and kind, more frank and kind. 
Did not their loved adorers ve.x. 

But spoke their mind, but spoke their mind. 
Repenting now, she promised fair, 

Would he return, would he return. 
She ne'er again would give him care. 

Or cause to mourn, or cause to mourn. 

Why loved I the deserving swain, [shame. 

Yet still thought shame, yet still thought 
When he my yielding heart did gain. 

To own my flame, to own my flame. 
Why took I pleasure to torment, 

And seem too coy, and seem too coy, 
Which makes me now, alas ! lament 

My slighted joy, my slighted joy. 

Ye fair, while beauty's in its spring. 

Own your desire, own your desire, 
Wliile love's young power, with his soft wing. 

Fans up the fire, fans up the fire ; 
Oh, do not with a silly pride. 

Or low design, or low design, 
Refuse to be a happy bride. 

But answer plain, but answer plain. 

Thus the fair mourner 'wail'd her crime. 

With flowing eyes, with flowing eyes ; 
Glad Jamie heard her all the lime 

With sweet surprise, with sweet surprise. 
Some god had led him to the grove, 

His mind unchanged, his mind unchanged. 
Flew to her arms, and cried, my love, 

I am revenged, I am revenged. 



THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER 
THE MOOR. 

Ramsay found the first line of this 
song, which had been preserved as tlie 
title of the charming air, and then com- 
p'jat'd the test of the verses to suit that 



line. This has always a finer eifect 
than composing English w rds, cr 
words with an idea foreign to the spirit 
of the old title. Where old titles of 
songs convey any idea at all, it will 
generally be found to be quite in the 
spirit of the air. 

"There are," says Allan Cunningham, 
" some fine verses in this song, though some 
fastidious critics pronounce them ovet 
warm :" — 

The last time I came o'er the moor, 

I left my love behind me : 
Ye powers, what pain do I endure, 

When soft ideas mind me. 
Soon as the ruddy morn display'd. 

The beaming day ensuing, 
I met betimes my lovely maid 

In fit retreats for wooing. 

Beneath the cooling shade we lay. 

Gazing and chastly sporting ; 
We kiss'd and promised time away. 

Till night spread ner black curtain. 
I pitied all beneath the skies, 

Even kings, when she was nigh me ; 
In rapture I beheld her eyes. 

Which could but ill deny me. 

Should I be call'd where cannons roar. 

Where mortal steel may wound me ; 
Or cast upon some foreign shore. 

Where danger may surround me ; 
Yet hopes again to see my love, 

And feast on glowing kisses. 
Shall make my cares at distance move, 

In prospect of such blisses. 

In all my soul there's not one place 

To let a rival enter ; 
Since she excels in every grace. 

In her my love shall centre : 
Sooner the seas shall cease to flow. 

Their waves the Alps shall cover. 
On Greenland ice shall roses grow. 

Before I cease to love her. 

The next time I go o'er the moor. 

She shall a lover find me ; 
And that my faith is firm and pure. 

Though I left her behind mc : 
Then hymen's sacred bonds shall chain, 

My heart to her fair bosom ; 
There, while my being does remain. 

My love more fresh shall blossom. 



JOHNNIE'S GRAY BREEKS. 

Though this has certainly every 
evidence of being a Scottish air, yet 
there is a woll -known tune and song 
in the North of Ireland, called " Tiia 
Weaver and his Shuttle, O," which, 
though sung much tj^uicker, is every 
note the very tuue. 



SOD 



BURNS' WORKS. 



When I was in my se'enteenth year, 

I was baith blithe and bonny, O ; 
The lads lo'ed me baith far and near ; 

But I lo'ed none but Johnnie, O. 
He gain'd my heart in twa three weeks, 

He spak sae blithe and kindly, O ; 
And I made him new gray breaks, 

That fitted him maist finely, O. 

He was a handsome fellow ; 

His humour was baith frank and free ; 
His bonny locks sae yellow, 

Like gowd they glitter'd in my ee ; 
His dimpled chin and rosy cheeks, 

And face sae fair and ruddy, O ; 
And then a-day his gray bracks 

Were neither auld nor duddy, O. 

But now they are threadbare worn. 

They're wider than they wont to be ; 
They're a' tash'd-like, and unco torn, 

And clouted sair on ilka knee. 
But gin I had a simmer's day. 

As I hae had right mony, O, 
I'd make a web o' new gray. 

To be breeks to my Johnnie, O. 

For he's wee) worthy o' them. 

And better than I hae to gie ; 
But I'll take pains iipo' them, 

And strive frae fau'ts to keep them free. 
To deed him weel shall be my care. 

And please him a' my study, O ; 
But he maun wear the auld pair 

A wee, though they be duddy. O. 



THE HAPPY MAERIAGE.* 

Anothee, but very pretty, Anglo- 
Scottisli piece. 

How blest has my time been, what joys have 
I known, [own : 

Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessy my 
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain, 
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain. 

Through walks grown with woodbines, as 

often we stray. 
Around us our boys and girls frolic and play : 
How pleasing their sport is ! the wanton ones 

see. 
And borrow their looks from my Jessy and me. 

To try her sweet temper, ofttimes am I seen. 
In ravels allday with the nymphs on the green; 
Though painful my absence, my doubts she 
beguiles, [and smiles. 

And meets me at night with complaisance 

What though on her cheeks the rose loses its 
hue, [through ; 

Her wit and her humour bloom all the year 

Time still, as he flies, adds increase to licr 
truth, [her youth. 

And gives to her mind what he steals from 



Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to 
ensnare, [fair ; 

And cheat with false vows the too credulous 

In search of true pleasure how vainly you 
roam i 

To hold it for life, you must find it at home. 



* This song was composed by Edward 
Moore, author of the well-known tragedy of 
the " Gamester," and other works. 



THE LASS OP PATIE'S MILL. 

In Sinclair's Statistical Account of 
Scotland, tliis song is localised (a verb 
I must use for want of another to ex- 
press my idea) somewhere in the north 
of Scotland, and is likewise claimed by 
Ayrshire. The following anecdote I 
had from the present Sir William Cun- 
ningham of Eobertland, who had it 
from John, the last Earl of Loudon. 
The then Earl of Loudon, and father to 
Earl John before mentioned, had Ram- 
say at Loudon, and one day walking 
together by the banks of Irvine water, 
near New Mills, at a place called Patie's 
Mill, they were struck with the appear- 
ance of a beautiful country girl. His 
lordship observed that she would be a 
fine theme for a song. Allan lagged 
behind in returning to Loudon Castle, 
and at dinner produced this identicU 
song. 

The lass of Patie's mill. 

So bonny, blithe, and gay. 
In spite of all my skill. 

Hath stole my heart away. 
' When tedding of the hay. 

Bare-headed on the green. 
Love midst her locks did play. 

And wanton'd in her een. 

Her arms white, round, and smocth. 

Breasts rising in their dawn. 
To age it would give youth. 

To press them with his hand : 
Through all my spirits ran 

An ecstasy of bliss. 
When I such sweetness fand. 

Wrapt in a balmy kiss. 

Without the help of art. 

Like flowers which grace the wild. 
She did her sweets impart. 

Whene'er she spoke or smiled. 
Her looks they were so mild, 

Free from affected pride, 
She me to love beguiled : 

I vv'ish'd her for my bride. 

Oh, had I all that wealth 

Hopetoun's high mountains fill, 

Insured long life and health, 
And pleasure at my will. 



I'd promise and fulfil, 
That none but bonny she, 

The lass o' Patie's Mill, 
Should share the same wi' me. 



THE TURNIMSPIKE. 

Theke is a stanza of this excellent 
song for local humour omitted in this 
set where I have placed the aster- 
ims. 

They tak te horse then by te head. 
And tere tey mak her stan', man ; 

Me tell tem, me hae seen te day 
Tey no had sic comman', man. 

A Highlander laments, in a half-serious and 
half-comic way, the privations which the act 
of parliament anent kilts has made him en- 
dure, and the miseries which turnpike roads 
and toll-bars have brought upon his coun- 
try : — 

Hersell pe Highland shentleman, 
Pe auld as Pothwell Prig, man ; 

And mony alterations seen 
Amang te Lawland Whig, man. 

First when her to the Lawlands came, 
Nainsell was driving cows, man ; 

There was nae laws about him's nerse, 
About the preeks or trews, man. 

Nainsell did wear the philabeg. 
The plaid prick't on her shoulder ; 

The guid claymore hung pe her pelt, 
De pistol sharged wi' pouder. 

But for whereas these cursfed preeks 
Wherewith her nerse be lockit. 

Oh hon ' that e'er she saw the day ! 
For a' her houghs be prokit. 

Every ting in de Highlands now 

Pe turn's to alteration ; 
The sodger dwall at our door-sheek, 

And tat's te great vexation. 

Scotland be turn't a Ningland now, 
And laws pring on de cadger ; 

Nainsell wad durk him for his deeds, 
But oh ! she fear te sodger. 

Anither law came after that. 

Me never saw te like, man ; 
They mak a lang road on te crund, 

And ca' him Turniiuspike, man. 

And wow \ she pe a pouny road. 
Like louden corn- rigs, man ; 

Where twa carts may gang on her, 
And no preak ither's legs, man. 

They sharge a penny for ilka horse. 
In troth she'll no be sheaper. 

For nought put gaen upo' the ground, 
And they gie me a paper. 



Nae doubts, himsel maun tra her purse. 
And pay them what hims like, man ; 

I'll see a shudgement on his toor ; 
That filthy Turnimspike, man. 

But I'll awa' to te Highland hills. 

Where teil a ane dare turn her, 
And no come near your Turnimspike, 

Unless it pe to purn her. 



HIGHLAND LADDIE. 

As this was a favourite theme with 
our later Scottish muses, there are 
several airs and songs of that name. 
That which I take to be the oldest is 
to be found in the Musical Museum, 
beginning " I hae been at Crookieden.' 
One reason for my thinking so is that 
Oswald has it in his collection by the 
name of " The auld Highland Laddie. ' 
It is also known by the name of "Jing- 
lan Johnnie," which is a well-known 
song of four or five stanzas, and seems 
to be an earlier song than Jacobite 
times. As a proof of this, it is littla 
known to the peasantry by the name of 
" Highland Laddie," Avhile everybody 
knows ' ' Jinglan Johnnie. " The song 
begins 

Jinglan John, the meikle man. 
He met wi' a lass was blithe and bonny. 

Another " Highland Laddie" is also 
in the Museum, vol. v., which I take 
to be Ramsay's original, as he has bor- 
rowed the chorus — "Oh, my bonny 
Highland lad," &c. It consists of three 
stanzas, besides the chorus, and haa 
humour in its composition; it is an ex- 
cellent, but somewhat licentious song. 
It begins 

As I cam o'er Cairney-Mount, 

And down amang the blooming heather 
Kindly stood the milking-shiel. 

To shelter frae the stormy weather. 

Oh, my bonny Highland lad. 

My winsome, weel-fard Highland laddie; 
Wha wad mind the wind and rain, 

Sae weel rcv/'d in his tartan plaidie ? 

Now Phoebus blinkit on the bent, nn.?t 

And o'er the knowes the lambs were bleat* 

But he wan my heart's consent 
To be his ain at the neist meeting. 

Oh, my bonny Highland lad. 

My winsome, weel-fard Highland laddie ; 
Wha wad mind the wind and rain, 

Sae weel row'd in his tartan plaidie ? 



803 



BURNS' WORKS. 



This air and the common "Highland 
Laddie" seem only to be different sets. 

Another " Highland Laddie," also in 
the Museum, vol. v., is the tune of 
several Jacobite fragments. One of 
these old songs to it only exists, as far 
as I know, in these four lines: — 

Whare hae ye been a' day, 
Bonny laddie, Highland laddie ? 

Down the back o' Bell's brae, 
Courtin' Maggie, courtin' JMaggie." 

Another of this name is Dr. Arne's 
beautiful air called the new " Highland 
Laddie." 



finished, else, had I known in time, E 
would have prevented such an imp'i- 
dent absurdity. 

The following is a complete copy of Percj s 
beautiful lines : — 

O Nancy, wilt thou go with me, 

Nor sigh to leave the flaunting town ? 
Can silent glens have charms for thee. 

The lowly cot and russet gown ? 
No longer drest in silken sheen, 

No longer deck'd with jewels rare. 
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene, 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? 

O Nancy, when thou'rt far away. 

Wilt thou not cast a wish behind ? 
Say, canst thou face the parching ray. 

Nor shrink before the wintry wind ? 
Oh, can that soft and gentle mien 

Extremes of hardship learn to bear ; 
Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene, 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair? 

O Nancy ! canst thou love so true, 

Through perils keen with me to go, 
Or when thy swain mishap shall rue. 

To share with him the pang of woe ? 
Say, should disease or pain befall. 

Wilt thou assume the nurse's care. 
Nor wistful those gay scenes recall. 

Where thou wert fairest of the fair? 

And when at last thy love shall die. 

Wilt thou receive his partingbreath ? 
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, 

And cheer with smiles the bed of death ? 
And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay 

Strew flowers and drop the tender tear, 
Nor then regret those scenes so gay 

Where thou wert fairest of the" fair? 

3IE STOLE MY TENDER HEA.RT ! "This, writes Bums, " is perhaps the most 
A WAV I beautiful ballad in the English language." 

This is an Anglo-Scottish production, 
but by no means a bad one. 

The following is a specimen : — 

The fields were gr-^en, the hills were gay. 
And birds were singing on each spray, 
When Colin met me in the grove, 
And told me tender tales of love, 
Was ever swain so blithe as he. 
So kind, so faithful and so free ? 
In spite of all my friends could say. 
Young Colin stole my heart away. 



THE GENTLE SWAIN. 

To sing such a beautiful air to such 
execrable verses is downright prostitu- 
tion of common sense! The Scots 
verses indeed are tolerable. 

The Scottish version, written by Mr. Mayne, 
commences thus ; — 

Jeanie's heart was frank and free, 

And wooers she had mony yet, 
Her song was aye, Of a' I see. 

Commend me to my Johnny yet. 
For air and late he has sic a gate 

To make a body cheery, tliat 
I wish to be, before I die. 

His cun kind dearie yet. 



FAIREST OP THE FAIR. 

It is too barefaced to take Dr. 
Percy's charming song, and, by means 
of transposing a few English words 
into Scots, to offer to pass it for a Scots 
song. — I was not acquainted with the 
editor until the first volume v.-as nearly 



THE BLAITHRIE OT. 

The following is a set of this song, 
which was the earliest song I remem- 
ber to have got by heart. When a 
child, an old woman sung it to me, and 
I picked it up, every word at first 
hearing. 

O Willy, weel 1 mind, I lent you my hand 
To sing you a song which you did me com- 
mand ; 
But my memory's so bad, I had almost forgot 
That you call'd it the gear and the blaithrie o't. 

I'll not sing about confusion, delusion ncP 
pride, [bride; 

I'll sing about a laddie was for a virtuous 

For virtue is an ornament that time will never 
rot. 

And preferable to gear and t^i blaithrie o't. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG.' 



803 



Though my lassie hae nae scarlets nor silks to 

Wput on, [throne ; 

e envy not the greatest that sits upon the 
I wad rather hae my lassie, though she cam 
in her smock, [o't. 

Than a princess wi' the gear and the blaithrie 

Though we hae nae horses nor menzie* at 
command ; [our hand ; 

We will toil on our foot, and we'll work wi' 

And when wearied without rest, we'll find it 
sweet in any spot, [o't. 

And we'll value not the gear and the blaithrie 

If we hae ony babies, we'll count them as 
lent ; [tent ; 

Hae we less, hae we mair, we. will aye be con- 

For they say they hae mair pleasure that wins 
but a groat [o't. 

Than tlie miser wi' his gear and the blaithrie 

I'll not meddle wi' the affairs o' the kirk or 
the queen ; [sink, let them swim ; 

They're nae matters for a sang, let them 

On your kirk I'll ne'er encroach, but I'll hold 
it still remote, 

Sae tak this for the gear and the blaithrie o't. 



MAT EVE OR KATE OF ABER- 
DEEN. 

Kate of Aberdeen" is, I believe, 
tlie work of poor Cunningliam the 
player; of "wliom the following anec- 
dote, tliougli told before, deserves a 
recital. A fat dignitary of the church 
coming past Cunningham one Sunday, 
as the poor poet was busy plying a 
lishing-rod in some stream near Dur- 
ham, his native county, his reverence 
reprimanded Cunningham very severe- 
ly for such an occupation on such a 
day. The poor poet, with that in- 
offensive gentleness of manners which 
was his peculiar characteristic, replied, 
that he hoped God and his reverence 
would forgive his seeming profanity of 
that sacred day, " as he had no dinner 
to eat hut what lay at the bottom of that 
pool!" This, Mr. Woods, the player, 
who knew Cunningham well, and es- 
teemed him much, assured me was 
true. 

The silver moon's enamour'd beam 

Steals softly through the night, 
To wanton with the winding stream. 
And kiss reflected light. 

♦ Menzie — Retinue, followers. 



To beds of state go, balmy Sleep, 

Where you've so seldom been. 
Whilst I May's wakeful vigils keep 

With Kate of Aberdeen ! 

The nymphs and swains expectant wait| 

In primrose chaplets gay, 
Till morn unbars her golden gate, 

And gives the promised May. 
The nymphs and swains shall all declare 

The promised May, when seen, 
Not half so fragrant, half so fair, 

As Kate of Aberdeen ! 

I'll tune my pipe to playful notes. 

And rouse yon nodding grove ; 
Till new-waked birds distend their throats. 

And hail the maid I love. 
At her approach the lark mistakes. 

And quits the new-dress'd green : 
Fond bird ! 'tis not the morning breaks ; 

'Tis Kate of Aberdeen ! 

Now blithesome o'er the dewy mead. 

Where elves disportive play ; 
The festal dance young shepherds lead. 

Or sing their love-tuned lay. 
Till May in morning robe draws nigh. 

And claims a "Virgin Queen ; 
The nymphs and swains, exulting, cry, 

Here s Kate of Aberdeen ! 



TWEED-SIDE. 

In Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany, lie 
tells us that about thirty of the songs 
in that publication were the works of 
some young gentlemen of his acquaint- 
ance, which songs are marked with 
the letters D. C, &c.— Old Mr. Tytler 
of Woodhouselee, the worthy and able 
defender of the beauteous Queen of 
Scots, told me that the songs marked 
C. in the Tea-tahle were the composi- 
tion of a Mr. Crawford, of the house of 
Achnames, who was afterwards unfor- 
tunately drowned coming from France. 
As Tytler was raost intimately ac- 
quainted with Allan Ramsay, I think 
the anecdote may be depended on. Of 
consequence, the beautiful song of 
Tweed-side is Mr. Crawford's, and in, 
deed does great honour to his poetical 
talents. He was a Robert Crawford; 
the Mary he celebrates was a Mary 
Stuart, of the Castle-Milk family,* 

* In a copy of Cromek's Reliques of Burns 
there is the following note on this passage in 
Sir Walter Scott's handwriting : — " Miss Mar;; 
Lillias Scott was the eldest daughter of John 
Scott of Harden, and well known in tha 



304 



BURNS' WORKS. 



afterwards married to a Mr.Jolm Rit- 
chie. 

I have seen a song, calling itself the 
original Tweed-side, and said to have 
been composed by a Lord Tester. It 
consisted of two stanzas, of which I 
still recollect the first — 

When Maggy and I was acquaint, 

I carried my noddle fu' high ; 
Nae Untwhite on a' the green plain. 

Nor gowdspink, sae happy as I ; 
But I saw her sae fair, and 1 lo'd : 

I woo'd, but I cam nae great speed ; 
So now I maun wander abroad, 

And lay my banes far frae the T^veed.t 

The following is Crawford's song, which is 
Still popular : — 

What beauties doth Flora disclose ! 

How sweet are her smiles upon Tweed ! 
Yet Mary's, still sweeter than those. 

Both nature and fancy exceed. 
Nor daisy, nor sweet blushing rose. 

Nor all the gay flowers of the field. 
Nor Tweed, gliding gently through those, 

Such beauty and pleasure do yield. 

The warblers are heard in the grove. 

The linnet, the lark, and the thrush. 
The blackbird and sweet cooing dove 

With music enchant every bush. 
Come, let us go forth to the mead. 

Let us see how the primroses spring, 
We'll lodge in some village on Tweed, 

And love while the feather'd folks sing. 

How does my love pass the long day ? 

Does Mary not tend a few sheep ? 
Do they never carelessly stray ? 

While happily she lies asleep ? 



fashionable world by the nick-name of Cadie 
Scott, I believe, because she went to a masked 
ball in such a disguise. I remember her, an 
old lady, distinguished tor elegant manners 
and high spirit, though struggling 
under the disadvantages of a narrow income, 
as her father's estate, being entailed on heirs 
male, went to another branch of the Harden 
family, then called the High Chester family. 
I have heard a hundred times, from those who 
lived at the period, that Tweed-side, and the 
song called Mary Ccott, the Flower of Yarrow, 
Vi^ere both written upon this much-admired 
lady, and could add much proof on the subject, 
did space permit." 

t The following is the other stanza : — 

To Maggy my love I did tell, 

Saut tears did my passion express; 
Alas ! for I lo'ed her o'er well. 

And the women lo'e'sic a man less. 
Her heart it was frozen and cauld. 

Her pride had my ruin decreed ; 
Therefore I will wander abroad. 

And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. 



Tweed's murmurs should lull her to rest, 
Kind nature indulging my bliss. 

To ease the soft pains of my breast, 
I'd steal an ambrosial kiss. 

'Tis she does the virgin excel, 

No beauty with her may compare ; 
Love's graces around her do dwell. 

She's fairest, where thousands are fair. 
Say, charmer, where do thy flock stray ? 

Oh ! tell me at noon where they feed ; 
Is it on the sweet wending Tay, 

Or pleasanter banks of the Tweed ? 



THE POSIE. 

It appears evident to me that Oswald 
composed his "Rosiin Castle" on the 
modulation of this air.* — In the second 
part of Oswald's, in the three first bars, 
he has either hit on a v^onderful simil- 
arity to, or else he has entirely borrow- 
ed, the three first bars of the old air; 
and the close of both tunes is almost 
exactly the same. The old verses to 
which it was sung, when I took down 
the notes from a country girl's voice, 
had no great merit. — The following ia 
a specimen: — 

There was a pretty may,^ and a milkin' she 

went, [hair ; 

Wi' her red rosy cheeks and her coal black 

And she has met a young man a comin' o'er 

the bent. 

With a double and adieu to thee, fair may. 

Oh, where are ye goin', my ain pretty may, 
Wi' thy red rosy cheeks and thy coal black 
hair? 

Unto the yov/es a milkin'^ kind sir, she says. 
With a double and adieu to thee, fair may. 

What if I gang alang wi' thee, my ain pretty 

may, [hair ? 

Wi' thy red rosy cheeks and thy coal black 

Wad I be aught the warse o' that, kind sir, 

she says. 

With a double and adieu to thee, fair may. 



MARY'S DREAM. 

The Mary here alluded to is gener- 
ally supposed to be Miss Mary M'Ghie, 
daughter to the Laird of Airds, in 
Galloway. The poet was a Mr. John 

1 Maid. 
* This i3 a mistake — Oswald was not the 
composer of Roslin Castle. 



REMARKS OX SCOTTISH SONG. 



305 



Lowe,f who like'5\ase wrote another 
beautiful song, called Pompey's Ghost. 
■ — 1 have seen a poetic epistle from him 
in North America, where he no^v is, or 
lately was, to a lady in Scotland. — By 
the strain of the verses, it appeared 
that they allude to some love affair. 

The moon had climbed the highest hill 

Which rises o'er the source of Dee, 
And from the eastern summit shed 

Her silver light on tower and tree. 
When Mary laid her down .to sleep. 

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea ; 
When, soft and low, a voice she heard. 

Saying, " Mary, weep no more for me !" 

She from her pillow gently raised 

Her head to ask who there might be ; 
She saw young Sandy shivering stand, 

With visage pale and hollow ee : 
O Mary dear ! cold is my clay. 

It hes beneath a stormy sea ; 
Far, far from thee I sleep in death. ^ 

So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 

Three stormy nights and stormy days 

We toss'd upon the raging mam. 
And long we strove our bark to save. 

But all our striving was in vain. 
Even then, when horror chill'd my blood, 

My heart was fill'd with love for thee ; 
The storm is past, and I at rest, 

So, Mary, weep no more for me ! 

O maiden dear, thyself prepare. 

We soon shall meet upon that shore 
Where love is free from doubt and care, 

And thou and I shall part no more. 
Loud crov^'d the cock, the shadow fied. 

No more of Sandy could she see ; 
But soft the passing spirit said, 

" Sweet Mary, weep no more for me !" 



THE MAID 



THAT TENDS THE 
GOATS. 



BY MR. DUDGEON. 

This Dudgeon is a respectable farm- 
er's son in Berwickshire 



t He was a native of Kenmore in Galloway, 
and was employed as a tutor in the family of 
M'Ghie of Airds, about 1770, when the inci- 
dent recorded in the song occurred. Miss 
Mary M Ghie, a daughter of his employer's, 
having been betrothed to a young gentleman 
of the name of Miller, who was at this time 
unfortunately lost at sea, Lowe commemor- 
ated the melancholy event in the above beau- 
tiful song. He afterwards emigrated to the 
United States, where he made an unfortunate 
marriage, the grief occasioned by which drove 
him into dissipated habits, that brought him 
to an early grave. 



Up amang yon cliffy rocks. 

Sweetly rings the rising echo. 

To the maid that tends the goats, 

Lilting o'er her native notes. 

Hark, she sings, Young Sandie's kind, 

And he's promised aye to lo'e me, 

Here's a brooch, I ne'er shall tine, 

Till he's fairly married to me. 
Drive away, ye drone Time, 
And bring about our bridal day. 

Sandy herds a flock o' sheep, 

Aften does he blaw the whistle, 

In a strain sae vastly sweet, 

Lam'ies listening dare na bleat ; 

He's as fleet's the mountain roe. 

Hardy as the Highland heather. 

Wading through the winter snow. 

Keeping aye his flock together ; 
But wi' plaid and bare houghs 
He braves the bleakest northern blast* 

Brawly he can dance and sing. 
Canty glee, or Highland cronacht 
Nane can ever match his fling. 
At a reel, or round a ring : 
Wightly can he wield a rung. 
In a brawl he's aye the baughter ; 
A' his praise can ne'er be sung 
By the langest winded sangster. 

Sangs that sing o' Sandy, 

Seem short, though they were e'er sae lang'. 



I WISH MY LOVE WERE IN A 
MIRE. 

I NEVER heard more of the words of 
this old song than the title. 

The old song began with these character- 
istic words • — 

I wish my love were in a mire. 
That I might pu' her out again. 

The verses in the Museum are merely a 
translation from Sappho by Ambrose PhU- 
lips : — 

Blest as the immortal gods is he, 
The youth who fondly sits by thee. 
And hears and sees thee all the while. 
So softly speak and sweetly smile. 

'Twas this bereaved my soul of rest. 
And raised such tumults in my breast. 
For while I gazed, in transport toss'd. 
My breath was gone, my voice was lost. 

My bosom glow'd, the subtle flame 
Ran quick through al! my vital frame; 
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung. 
My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 

In dewy damps my limbs were chill'd. 
My blood with gentle horrors thriU'd; 
My feeble pulse forgot to play : 
I fainted— sunk— juid died away. 



306 



BURNS' WORKS. 



ALLAN WATER. 

This Allan Water, wliicli tlie com- 
poser of the music has honoured with 
the name of the air, I have been told is 
Allan Water in Strathallan. 

What numbers shall the muse repeat, 

What verse be found to praise my Annie ; 
On her ten thousand graces v>'ait, 

Each swain admires and owns she's bonny. 
Since first she strode the happy plain, 

She set each youthful heart on fire ; 
Each nymph does to her swam complain, 

That Annie kindles new desire. 

This lovely, darling, dearest care. 

This new delight, this charmmg Annie, 
Like summer's dawn she's fresh and fair, 

When Flora's fragrant breezes fan ye. 
All day the am'rous youths convene. 

Joyous they sport and play before her ; 
All night, when she no more is seen. 

In joyful dreams they still adore her. 

Among the crowd Amyntor came. 

He look'd, he lov'd, he bovv'd to Annie ; 
His rising sighs express his flame. 

His v/ords were few, his wishes many. ' 
With smiles the lovely maid replied, .' - 

Kind shepherd, why should I deceive ye? 
Alas! your love must be denied. 

This destined breast can ne'er relieve ye. 

Young Damon came with Cupid's art. 

His wiles, his smiles, his charms beguiling ; 
He stole away my virgin heart ; 

Cease, poor Amyntor ! cease bewailing. 
Some brighter beauty you may find ; 

On yonder plain the nymphs are many : 
Then choose some heart that's unconfined. 

And leave to Damon his own Annie. 



THERE'S NAE LUCK 
THE HOUSE.* 



ABOUT 



This is one of the most beautiful 
songs in the Scots, or any other, lan- 
guage. — The two lines, 

And will I see his face again ? 
And I will hear him speak ? 

as well as the two preceding ones, are 
unequalled almost by anything I ever 
heard or read; and the lines, 

The present moment is our ain. 
The neist we never saw. 



* William Julius Mickle, a native of Lang- 
holm, on the Borders, and well known as the 
translator of Camoens' immortal poem, "The 
Lusiad," was the author of this song. He 
was born in 1734, and died in 1788. 



are worthy of the first poet. It is long 
posterior to Ramsay's days. About the 
year 1771, or 1772, it came first on the 
streets as a ballad; and I suppose the 
composition of the song was not much 
anterior to that period. 

There's nae luck about the house, 

There's nae luck at a' ; 
There's little pleasure in the house, 

When our guidman's awa'. 

And are you sure the news is true ? 

And do you say he's weel ? 
Is this a time to speak of wark ? 

Ye jades, lay by your wheel ! 
Is this a time to spin a thread, 

When Colin's at the door ? 
Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay 

And see him come ashore. 

And gie to me my bigonet, 

My bishop's satin gown ; 
For 1 maun tell the bailie's wife 

That Colin's in the town. 
My turlcen slippers maun gae oa, 

My stockings pearly blue ; 

'Tis a' to pleasure my guidman, 

. For he's baith leal and true. 

Rise, lass, and make a clean firesid 

Put on the muckle pot ; 
Gie little Kate her button gown. 

And Jock his Sunday coat ; 
And mak their shoon as black as blaes 

Their hose as white as snaw ; 
'Tis a' to pleasure my guidman, 

For he's been lang awa'. 

There's twa fat hens upo' the coop. 

Been fed this month and mair ; 
Ma'ii haste and thravv their necks about, 

That Colin weel may fare ; 
And mak the table neat and trim ; 

Let every thing be braw ; 
For who kens how my Colin fared 

When he was far awa'. 

Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech. 

His breath like caller air. 
His very foot hath viusic in'i. 

As he C07>zes up the stair. 
A nd shall I see his face again ? 

And shall I hear him speak ? 
I'm downright giddy wi' the thought. 

In truth I'm like to greet. 

If Colin's weel, and weel content, 

I hae nae mair to crave ; 
And gin I live to mak him sae, 

I'm blest aboon the lave. 
And shall I see his face again ? &c. 



TARRY WOO. 

This is a very pretty song; but I fancy 
that the following first half -stanza, a? 



REMAEKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



307 



well as tlie tune itself, is mucli older 
tliau tlie rest of the words. 

Oh, tarry woo is ill to spin, 
Card it weel e'er ye begin ; 
Card it weel and draw it sma', 
Tarry woo's the best of a'. 



GEAMACHREE. 

The song of Gramacliree was com- 
posed by Mr Poe, a counsellor at law 
in Dublin. This anecdote I had froin 
a gentleman who knew the lady, the 
"Molly," who is the subject of the 
song, and to whom Mr. Poe sent the 
first manuscript of these most beauti- 
ful verses. I do not remember any 
single line that has more true pathos 
than 

How can she break the honest heart that 
wears her in its core ! 

But as the song is Irish, it had nothing 
to do in this collection. 
As down on Banna's banks I stray'd, 

One evening in May, 
The little birds in blithest notes 

Made vocal every spray . 
They sang their little notes of love : 

They sang them o'er and o'er. 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge. 
Mo Molly Astore. 

The daisy pied, and all the sweets 

The dawn of nature yields ; 
The primrose pale, the violet blue, 

Lay scatter'd o'er the fields , 
Such fragrance in the bosom lies 

Of her whom I adore. 
Ah ' gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 

1 laid me down upon a bank, 

Bewailing my sad fate, 
That doom'd me thus the slave of love. 

And cruel Molly's hate. 
How can she break the honest heart 

That wears her in its core ' 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge. 

Mo Molly Astore. 

You said you loved me, Molly dear ; 

Ah ! why did I believe ? 
Yes, who could think such tender words 

Were meant but to deceive? 
That love was all I ask'd on earth, 

Nay, heaven could give no more. 
Ah ' gramachree, mo challie nouge. 

Mo Molly Astore. 

Oh ! had I all the flocks that graze, 

On yonder yellow hill ; 
Or low'd for me the num'rous herds, 

That yon green pastures fill ; 



With her I love I'd gladly share 

My kine and fleecy store. 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 

Two turtle doves above my head. 

Sat courting on a bough ; 
I envy'd them their happiness, 

To see them bill and coo ; 
Such fondness once for me she show'd. 

But now, alas! 'tis o'er: 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo Molly Astore. 

Then fare thee well, my Molly dear. 

Thy loss I still shall moan ; 
Whilst life remains in Strephon's heart, 

'Twill beat for thee alone 
Though thou art false, may Heaven on thee 

Its choicest blessings pour ! 
Ah ! gramachree, mo challie nouge, 

Mo MoUie Astore. 



THE COLLIER'S BONNY LASSIE. 

The first half stanza is much older 
than the days of Ramsay. — The old 
words began thus: — 

The collier has a dochter, and, oh, she's won- 
der bonny ; [lands and money. 

A laird he was that sought her, rich baith in 

She wad nae hae a laird, nor wad she be a 
lady ; [daddie. 

But she wad hae a collier, the colour o' her 

The verses in the Museiitn are very pretty ; 
but Allan Ramsay's songs have always nature 
to recommend them : — 

TnECoIlier has a daughter, 

And oh. she's wonder bonny I 
A laird he was that sought her. 

Rich baith in land and money» 
The tutors watch'd the motion 

Of this young honest lover. 
But love is like the ocean , 

Wha can its deeps discover? 

He had the heart to please ye» 

And was by a' respected. 
His airs sat round him easy, 

Genteel, but unaffected. 
The Collier's bonny lassie. 

Fair as the new-blown lily. 
Aye sweet and never saucy. 

Secured the heart of Willie. 

He loved beyond expression. 

The charms that were about heifj 
And panted for possession. 

His life was dull without her. 
After mature resolving. 

Close to his breast he held her 
In saftest flames dissolving. 

He tenderly thus tell'd her — 

'■ My bonny Collier's daughter 
Let naething discompose ye, 

'Tis no your scanty tocher 
Shall ever gar me lose ye ; 



308 



EUENS' WORKS 



For 1 have gear in plenty. 
And love says 'tis my duty 

To wear what Heaven has lent me, 
Upon your wit and beauty/' 



MT AIN KIND DEARIE, O. 

The old words of tliis song are omit- 
ted here, though much more beautiful 
than these inserted; which were mostly 
composed by poor Fergusson, in one of 
his merry humours. The old words 
began thus; — 

I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O, 
ril rowe thee o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kmd dearie, O, 
Although the night were ne'er sae wat, 

And I were ne'er sae weary, O, 
I'll rowe thee o'er the lea-rig. 

My ain kind dearie, O. 

The following are Fergusson's verses ; — 

Nae herds wi' kent and collie there 
Shall ever come to fear ye, O, 

But laverocks whistling in the air, 
Shall woo, like me, their dearie, O ! 

While others herd their lambs and ewes, 
And toil for world's gear, my jo. 

Upon the lee my pleasure grows, 
Wi' you, my kind dearie, O ! 

Will ye gang o'er the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O ? 
And cuddle there, sae kindly wi' me, 

My kind dearie, O ! 

At thorny dike, and birkin tree. 
We'll daff, and ne'er be weary, C ! 

They'll sing ill e'en frae you and me. 
My ain kmd dearie, O ! 



MARY SCOTT, THE FLOWER OF 
YARROW. 

Mr. Robertson, in his statistical 
account of the parish of Selkirk, says, 
that Mary Scott, the Flower of Yar- 
row, was descended from the Dryhope, 
and married into the Harden family. 
Her daughter was married to a prede- 
cessor of the present Sir Francis Elliot 
of Stobbs, and of the late Lord Heath- 
field. 

There is a circumstance in their con- 
tract of marriage that merits attention, 
and it strongly marks the predatory 
spirit of the times. The father-in-law 



agrees to keep his daughter for some 
time after the marriage; for which the 
son-in-:'?.w binds himself to give him 
the profits of the first Michaelmas 
moon.* 

Allan Ramsay's version is as fol- 
lows; — 

Happy's the love which meets return. 
When in soft flame souls equal burn ; 
But words are wanting to discover 
The torments of a hapless lover. 
Ye registers of heaven, relate. 
If looking o er the rolls of fate, 
Did you there see me mark'd to marrow ; 
Mary Scott, the flower of Yarrow. 

Ah, no ! her form's too heavenly fair. 
Her love the gods alone must share ; 
While mortals with despair explore her. 
And at a distance due adore her. 
O lovely maid ! my doubts beguile. 
Revive and bless me with a smile ; 
Alas, if not, you'll soon debar a 
Sighing swain on the banks of Yarrow. 

Be hush'd, ye fears ! I'll not despair. 
My Mary's tender as she's fair ; 
Then I'll go tell her all mine anguish, 
She is too good to let me languish ; 
Vvith success crown'd, I'll not envy 
The folks who dwell above the sk)' ; 
When Maiy Scott's become my marrow. 
We'll make a paradise of Yarrow. 



DOWN THE BURN, DAVIE. 

I HAVE been informed that the tune 
of " Down the Burn, Davie," was tha 
composition of David Maigh, keeper 
of the blood slough-hounds, belonging 
to the Laird of Riddel, in Tweeddale. 

When trees did bud, and fields were green, 

And broom bloom'd fair to see ; 
When Mary'was complete fifteen. 

And love laugh'd in her ee ; 
Blithe Davie's 'blinks her heart did move. 

To speak her mind thus free, 
" Gang down the burn, Davie, love, 

And I shall follow thee." 

Now Davie did each lad surpass 

That dwalt on yon bum side. 
And Mary was the bonniest lass. 

Just meet to be a bride ; 
Her cheeks were rosy, red and white, 

Her een were bonny blue : 
Her looks were like Aurora bright. 

Her lips like dropping dew. 



* The time v/hen the moss-troopers and 
cattle-reavers on the Borders began of yore 
their nightly depredations. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



309 



As down the burn they took their way, 

What tender tales they said ! 
His cheek to hers he aft did lay, 

And with her bosom play'd ; 
Till baith at length impatient grown 

To be mair fully blest, 
In yonder vale they lean'd them down — 

Love only saw the rest. 

What pass'd I guess was harmless play, 

And naething sure unmeet : 
For ganging hame, I heard them say, 

They liked a walk sae sweet ; 
And that they aften should return 

Sic pleasure to renew, 
Quoth Mary, " Love, I like the bum, 

And aye shall follow you." 



BLINK O'ER THE BURN. SWEET 
BETTY. 

The old words, all that I remember, 
are, — 

Bunk over the burn, sweet Betty, 

It is a cauld v/inter night ; 
It rains, it hails, it thunders. 

The moon she gies nae light: 
It's a' for the sake o' sweet Betty 

That ever I tint my way ; 
Sweet, let me lie beyond thee 

Until it be break o' day. 

Oh, Betty will bake my bread. 

And Betty will brew my ale. 
And Betty will be my love. 

When I come over the dale ; 
Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 

Blink over the burn to me. 
And while I hae life, dear lassie. 

My ain sweet Betty thou's be. 



THE BLITHESOME BRIDAL.* 

I FIND the " Blithesome Bridal" in 
James Watson's collection of Scots 
Poems printed at Edinburgh, in 1706. 
This collection, the publisher says, is 
the first of its nature which has been 
published in otir owxi native Scots dia- 
lect — it is now extremely scarce. 

The entire song is much too long for quota- 
tion ; but the following verses, describing the 
guests who were to be present and the dishes 
to be provided for them, will convey a very 
fair idea of its merit : — 

Come, fye, let us a' to the wedding. 
For tliere will be lilting there. 



* There appears to be some dubiety about 
the authorship of this humorous ballad, it 
having been assigned to Sir William Scott of 
Thirlestane and Francis Sempill of Beltrees. 



For Jock will be married to Maggie, 
The lass wi' the gowden hair. 

And there will be lang kail and castocks, 
And bannocks o' barley-meal ; 

And there will be guid saut herring, 
To relish a cog o' guid ale. 

And there will be Sandy the sutor, 

And Will wi' the meikle mou. 
And there will be Tam the blutter. 

With Andrev/ the tinkler, I irow ; 
And there will be bovv-Iegg'd Robie, 

With thumbless Katie's gudeman. 
And there will be blue-cheek'd Dobbie, 

And Laurie, tlie laird of the land. 

And there will be sow-libber Patie, 

And plookie-faced Wat o' the mill ; 
Capper-nosed Francis and Gibbie, 

That wons i' the Howe o' the hill ; 
And there will be Alister Sibbie, 

Wha in wi' black Bessie did mod, 
With snivelling Lillie and Tibbie, 

"The lass that stands aft on the stool. 



And there will be fadges and brochan, 

Wi' routh o' gude gabbocks o' skate ; 
Powsowdie and drammock and crowdie. 

And caller nowt feet on a plate ; 
And there will be partans and buckles. 

And whitings and speldings anew ; 
With singed sheep heads and a haggis, 

And scadlips to sup till ye spew. 

And there will be lapper'd milk kebbuck, 

And sowens, and carles, and laps ; 
Wi' swats and well-scraped paunches, 

And brandy in stoups and in caps; 
And there will be meal-kail and porridcre. 

Wi' skirk to sup till ye rive. 
And roasus to roast on a brander. 

Of flewks ihat v-^ere taken alive. 

ocrapt haddocks, wilks, dulse, and tangle. 

And a mill o' guid sneeshin to prie. 
When Vyfeary wi^ eating and driuKing. 

We'll rise up and dance till we die : 
Then fye let's a' to the bridal. 

For there will be lilting there. 
For Jock '11 be married to Maggie, 

The lass wi' the gowden hair. 



JOHN HAY'S BONNY LASSIE, 

John Hay's "Bonny Lassie" was the 
daughter of John Hay, Earl or Mar- 
quis of Tweeddale, and the late Count- 
ess Dowager of Roxburgh. She died 
at Broomlands, near Kelso, some time 
between the years 1720 and 1740. 

She's fresh as the spring, and sweet as Aurora, 
When birds mount and sing, bidding day a 

good morrow ; 
The sward o' the mead, enamei'd wi'daisies. 
Look wither'd and dead when twinn'd of het 

graces. 
But if she appear where verdures invite her. 



310 



BURNS' WORKS. 



The fountains run clear, and flowers smell the 

sweeter ; 
Tis heaven to be by when her wit is a-flow- 

Her smiles and bright een set my spirits 
a-glowmg. 



THE BONNY BRUCKET LASSIE. 

The first two lines of this song are 
all of it that is old. The rest of the 
song, as well as those songs in the 
Museum marked T., are the works of 
an obscure, tippling, but extraordinary 
body of the name of Tytler, commonly 
known by the name of Balloon Tytler, 
from his having projected a balloon: 
a mortal, who, though, he drudges 
about Edinburgh as a common printer, 
with leaky shoes, a sky-lighted hat, 
and knee- buckles as unlike as George- 
by-the-grace-of-God, and Solomon -the- 
son-of-Davia; yet that same unknown 
drunken mortal is author and com- 
piler of three-fourths of Elliot's pomp- 
ous Encyclopedia Britannica, which 
he composed at half-a-guinea a week ! 

The bonny brucket lassie, 

She's blue beneath the een ; 
She was the fairest lassie 

That danced on the green : 
A lad he lo'ed her dearly. 

She did his love return ; • 
But he his vows has broken, 

And left her for to mourn. 

" My shape," says she, " was handsome, 

My face was fair and clean ; 
But now I'm bonny brucket. 

And blue beneath the een : 
My eyes were bright and sparkling, 

Before that they turn'd blue ; 
But now they're dull with weeping, 

And a', my love, for you. 

" Oh, could I live in darkness^ 

Or hide me in the sea, 
Since my love is unfaithful, 

And has forsaken me. 
No other love I suffer'd 

Within my breast to dwell ; 
In nought have I offended. 

But loving him too well." 

Her lover heard her mourning. 

As by he chanced to pass ; 
And press'd unto his bosom 

The lovely brucket lass. 
" My dear," said he, " cease grieving ; 

Since that your love is true, 
My bonny brucket lassie, 

I'll faithful prove to you." 



SAE MERRY AS WE TWA HAB 
BEEN. 

This song is beautiful, — The chorus 
in particular is truly pathetic. 1 never 
could learn anything of its author. 



Sae merry as we twa hae been, 
Sae merry as we twa hae been ; 

My heart it is like for to break. 
When 1 think on the days we hae seen. 

A lass that was laden with care 

Sat heavily under a thorn ; 
I listen'd a while for to hear. 

When thus she began for to mourn : 
Whene'er my dear shepherd was there, 

The birds did melodiously sing. 
And cold nipping winter did wear 

A face that resembled the spring. 

Our flocks feeding close by his side, 

He gently pressing my hand, 
I view'd the wide world in its pride. 

And laugh'd at the pomp of command. 
" My dear," he would oft to me say, 

" What makes you hard-hearted to me? 
Oh ! why do you thus turn away 

From him who is dying for thee ?" 

But now he is far from my sight. 

Perhaps a deceiver may prove, 
Which makes me lament day and night, 

That ever I granted my love. 
At eve, when the rest of the folk 

Were merrily seated to spin, 
I set myself under an oak. 

And heavily sigh'd for him. 



THE BANKS OF FORTH. 
This air is Oswald's. 

" Here's anither — it's no a Scots tune, but it 
passes for ane — Oswald made it himsel, I 
reckon. He has cheated mony a ane, but he 
canna cheat Wandering Willie. — Sir Waltih 
Scott. 

The following is the song as given in the 

Musetttn : — 

Ye sylvan powers that rule the plain. 
Where sweetly winding Fortha glides, 

Conduct me to those banks again. 
Since there my charming Mary bides. 

Those banks that breathe their vernal sweets, 
Where every smiling beauty meets ; 
Where Mary's charms adorn the plain, 
And cheer the heart of every swain. 

Oft in the thick embowering groves. 
Where birds their music chirp aloudj 

Alternately we sung our loves. 
And Fortha's fair meanders view'd. 



The meadows wore a general smile, 
Love was our banquet all the while ; 
The lovely prospect charm'd the eye. 
To where' the ocean met the sky. 

Once on the grassy bank reclined 
Where Forth ran by xn murmurs deep, 

It was my happy chance to find 
The charming Mary luU'd asleep ; 

My heart then leap'd with inward bliss, 
I softly stoop'd, and stole a kiss ; 
She waked, she blush'd, and gently blamed, 
" Why, Damon ! are you not ashamed ?" 

Ye sylvan powers, ye rural gods. 
To whom we swains our cares impart. 

Restore me to those blest abodes. 
And ease, oh ! ease my love-sick heart ! 

Those happy days again restore, 
When Mary and I shall part no more ; 
When she shall fill these longing arms. 
And crown my bliss with all her charms. 



THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR. 

This is anotlier beautiful song of Mr. 
Crawford's composition. In the neigh- 
bourhood of Traquair, tradition still 
shovrs the old " Bush," which, when I 
saw it in the year 1787, was composed 
of eight or nine ragged birches. The 
Earl of Traquair has planted a clump 
of trees near by, which he calls " The 
hew Bush. " 

Hear me, ye nymphs, and every swain, 

I'll tell how Peggy grieves me ; 
Though thus I languish and complain, 

Alas ! she ne'er believes me. 
My vows and sighs, like silent air, 

Unheeded never move her ; 
The bonny bush aboon Traquair, 

Was where I first did love her. 

That day she smiled and made me glad, 

No maid seem'd ever kinder; 
I thought mysel the luckiest lad. 

So sweetly there to find her. 
I tried to soothe my amorous flame 

In words that I thought tender ; 
If more there pass'd , I'm not to blame, 

I meant not to offend her. 

Yet now she scornful flees the plain. 

The fields we then frequented ; 
If e'er we meet, she shows disdain. 

She looks as ne'er acquainted. 
The bonny bush bloora'd fair in May, 

Its sweets I'll aye remember ; 
But now her frowns make it decay ; 

It fades as in December, 



Ye rural powers, who hear my strains, 

Why thus should Peggy grieve me ? 
Oh ! make her partner in my pains ; 

Then let her smiles relieve me. 
If not, my love will turn despair. 

My passion no more tender ; 
I'll leave the bush aboon Traquair, 

To lonely wilds I'll wander. 



CROMLET'S LILT, 

The following interesting account df 
this plaintive dirge was communicated 
to Mr. Riddel by Alexander Fraser 
Tytler, Esq., of Woodliouselee : — 

" In the latter end of the 16th cen- 
tury, the Chisholms were proprietors 
of the estate of Cromleck, (now posses- 
sed by the Drummonds.) The eldest 
son of that family was very much at- 
tached to the daughter of Stirling of 
Ardoch, commonly known by the name 
of Fair Helen of Ardoch. 

" At that time the opportunities of 
meeting between the sexes were more 
rare, consequently more sought after 
than now; and the Scottish ladies, far 
from priding themselves on extensive 
literature, were thought sufficiently 
book-learned if they could make out 
the Scriptures in their mother tongue. 
Writing was entirely out of the line of 
female education. At that period the 
most of our young men of family 
sought a fortune or found a grave in 
France. Cromleck, when he went 
abroad to the war, was obliged to leave 
the management of his correspondence 
with his mistress to a lay-brother of 
the monastery of Dunblane in the im- 
mediate neighbourhood of Cromleck, 
and near Ardoch. This man unfortu- 
nately, was deeply sensible of Helen's 
charms. He artfully prepossessed her 
with stories to the disadvantage of 
Cromleck; and, by misinterpreting, or 
keeping up the letters and messages in- 
trusted to his care, he entirely irritated 
both. All connection was broken off 
betwixt them: Helen was inconsolable, 
and Cromleck has left behind him, in 
the ballad called ' Cromlet's Lilt,' a 
proof of the elegance of his genius, as 
well as the steadiness of his love. 
' ' When the artful monk thought time 



S13 



BURNS' WORKS. 



had sufficiently softened Helen's sor- 
row, he proposed himself as a lover 
Helen was obdurate, but at last, over- 
come by the persuasions of her brother, 
with whom she lived, and who, having a 
family of thirty-one children, was prob- 
ably very well pleased to get her off his 
hands — she submitted rather than con 
sented to the ceremony, but there her 
compliance ended; and, when forcibly 
put into bed, she started quite frantic 
from it, screaming out, that after 
three gentle raps on the wainscoat, at 
the bed-head, she heard Cromlech's 
voice, crying, ' Helen, Helen, mind 
me!' Cromlech soon after coming 
home, the treachery of the confidant 
was discovered — her marriage annulled 
■ — and Helen became Lady Cromlech." 
iV". B. — Marg Murray, mother to 
these thirty- one children, was daughter 
of Murray of Strewn, one of the seven- 
teen sons of Tullybardine, and whose 
youngest son, commonly called the 
Tutor of Ardoch, died in the year 1715, 
aged 111 years.. 

The following is a copy of this ballad as it 
appears in the Museuin : — 

Since all thy vows, false maid, 

Are blown to air 

And my poor heart betray'd 

To sad despair. 

Into some wilderness, 

My grief I will express, 

And thy hard-heartedness, 

O cruel fair ! 

Have I not graven our loves 

On every tree 

In yonder spreading groves, 

Though false thou be ? 

Was not a solemn oath 

Plighted betvi'ixt us both — 

Thou thy faith, I my troth- 
Constant to be ? 

Some gloomy place I'll find, 

Some doieful shade, 

Where neither sun nor wind 

E'er entrance had ; 

Into that hollow cave, 

There will I sigh and rave, 

Because thou dost behave 

So faithlessly. 

Wild fruit shall be my meat, 

I'll drink the spring, 

Cold earth shall be my seat ; 

For covering. 

I'll have the starry sky 

My head to canopy. 

Until mj' soul on high 

Shall spread its wing. 



I'll have no funeral fire, 

Nor tears for me ; 
No grave do I desire 

Nor obsequy. 
The courteous redbreast he 
With leaves will cover me, 
And sing my elegy 

With doleful voice. 

And when a ghost I am 

I'll visit thee, 

O thou deceitful dame. 

Whose cruelty 

Has kill'd the fondest heart 

That e'er felt Cupid's dart. 

And never can desert 

From loving thee- 



MY DEARIE, IF THOU DIE. 

Another beautiful song of Craw, 
ford's. 

Love never more shall give me pain, 

My fancy's fix'd on thee. 
Nor ever maid my heart shall gain, 

My Peggy, if thou die. 
Tlnr beauty doth such pleasure give. 

Thy love's so true to me. 
Without thee I can never live, 

My dearie, if thou die. 

If fate shall tear thee from my breast. 

How shall I lonely stray ? 
In dreary dreams the night I'll waste, 

In sighs, the silent day. 
I ne'er can so much virtue find, 

Nor such perfection see ; 
Then I'll renounce all woman-kind. 

My Peggy, after thee. 

No new-blown beauty fires my heart. 

With Cupid's raving rage ; 
But thine, which can such sweets impart. 

Must all the world engage. 
'Twas this that like the morning sun 

Gave joy and life to me ; 
And when its destined day is done, 

With Peggy let me die. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, 

And in such pleasure share : 
You who Its faithful flames approve, 

With pity view the fair ; 
Restore my Peggy's wonted charms, 

Those charms so dear to me ! 
Oh ' never rob them from these arms I 

I'm lost if Peggy die. 



SHE ROSE AND LET ME IN. 

The old set of this song, which is 
still to be found in printed collections, 
is much prettier than this ; but some- 



EEMAEKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



313 



body, I believe it was Ramsay,* took 
it into liis bead to clear it of some 
seeming indelicacies and made it at 
once more chaste and more dull. 

The Museum version is as follows :— 

The night her silent sables wore 

And gloomy were the skies, 
Of glittering stars appear'd no more 

Than those in Nelly's eyes. 
When to her father's door I came, 

Where I had often been, 
I begg'd my fair, my lovely dame, 

To rise and let me in. 

But she, with accents all divine, 

Did my fond suit reprove. 
And while she chid my rash design, 

She but inflamed my love. 
Her beauty oft had pleased before, 

While her briglit eyes did roll : 
But virtue only had the power 

To charm my very soul. 

Oh, who would cruelly deceive. 

Or from such beauty part ! 
I loved her so, I could not leave 

The charmer of my heart. 
My eager fondness I obey'd. 

Resolved she should be mine. 
Till Hymen to my arms convey d 

My treasure so divine. 

Now happy in my Nelly's love. 

Transporting is my joy. 
No greater blessing can I prove. 

So blest a man am I. 
For beauty may awhile retain, 

The conquer'd flattering mart. 
But virtue only is the chain 

Holds, never to depart. 



WILL YE GO TO THE EWE- 
BUGHTS/ MARION? 

I AM not sure if tliis old and charm- 
ing air be of the South, as is commonly 
said, or of the North of Scotland. 
There is a song apparently as ancient 
as " Ewe-bughts, Marion," which sings 
to the same time, and is evidently of the 
North — it begins thus: — 



^ Sheep-folds. 
* " No, no : it was not Ramsay, The song 
still remains in his Tea- Table Miscellany, and 
the Orpheus Caledonius, and even in Herd's 
Collection, in its primitive state of mdelicacy. 
The verses in the Museum were retouched by 
an able and masterly hand, who has thus pre- 
sented us with a song at once chaste and ele- 
gant, without a smgle idea to crimson the 
cheek of modesty, or cause one pang to the 
innocent heart." — Stenhouse. 



The Lord o' Gordon had three dochters, 

Mary, Marget, and Jean, 
They wad na stay at Ijonny Castle Gordon, 

But awa' to Aberdeen. 

The old ballad begins thus : — 

Will ye go to the ewe-bughts, Marion, 
And wear m the sheep wi' me ? , 

The sun shines sweet, my Marion, 
But nae half sae sweet as thee. 

O Marion's a bonny lass. 
And the blithe blink's in her ee ; 

And fain wad I marry Marion, 
Giu Marion wad marry me. 



LEWIE GORDON. 
This air is a proof how one of our 

Scotch tunes comes to be composed out 
of another. I have one of the earliest 
cojnes of the song, and it has prefixed 
— ' ' Tune — ' Tarry Woo' " — of which 
tune a different set has insensibly 
varied into a different air. — To a Scots 
criac, the pathos of the line, 

" Though his back be at the wa'," 

must be very striking. It needs not a 
Jacobite predjudice to be affected with 
this song. 

The supposed author of "Lewie 
Gordon" was a Mr. Geddes, priest at 
Shenval in the Ainzie. 

Oh ! send Lewie Gordon hame. 
And the lad I maunna name ; 
Though his back be at the wa'. 
Here's to him that's far awa' ! 

Oh hon ! my Highland man ! 

Oh, my bonny Highland man ; 

Weel would I my true-love ken, 

Amang ten thousand Highland men. 

Oh, to see his tartan trews. 
Bonnet blue, and laigh-heel'd shoes : 
Philabeg aboon his knee ; 
That's the lad that I'll gang wi ! 
Oh, hon ! &c. 

The princely youth that I do mean 
Is fitted for to be king ; 
On his breast he wears a star, 
You'd take him for the god of war. 
Oh, hon ! &c. 

Oh, to see this princely one 
Seated on a royal throne ! 
Disasters a' would disappear. 
Then begins the Jub'lee year! 
Oh, hon ! &c. 

' Lord Lewie Gordon, younger brother to the 
Duke of Gordon, commanded a detachmert 
for the Young Chevalier in the affair of 1745-6, 
and acquitted himself with great gallantry 
and judgment. He died in 1754. 



514 



BURNS' WORKS. 



THE WAULKING O' THE FAULD. 

There are two stanzas still sung to 
tills tune, which I take to be the 
original song whence Ramsay com- 
posed his beautiful song of that name 
in the Gentle Shepherd. It begins 

" Oh, will ye speak at our town, 
As ye come Irae the fauld," &c. 

I regret that, as in many of our old 
songs, the delicacy of this old frag- 
ment is not equal to its wit and hu- 
mour. 

The following is Ramsay's version : — 

My Peggie is a young thing. 

Just enter'd in her teens ; 
Fair as the day, and sweet as May, 
Fair as the day, and always gay, 
My Peggie is a young thing. 

And I'm not very auld ; 
Yet well I like to meet her at 

The waulking o' the fauld. 

My Peggie speaks sae sweetly 

Whene'er we meet alane ; 
I wish nae mair to lay my care, 
I wish nae mair of a' that's rare. 
My Peggie speaks sae sweetly. 

To a the lave I'm cauld ; 
But she gars a' my spirits glow 

At waulking o' the fauld. 

My Peggie smiles sae kindly 

Whene'er I whisper love. 
That I look down on a' the town, 
That I look down upon a crown. 
My Peggie smiles sae kindly, 

It makes me blithe and bauld ; 
And naethmg gies me sic delight 

As waulking o' the fauld. 

My Peggie sings sae saftly 

When on my pipe I play ; 
By a' the rest it is confess'd. 
By a' the rest that she sings best : 
My Peggy sings sae saftly. 

And in her sangs are tauld. 
With innocence, the wale o' sense, 

At waulking o' the fauld. 



OH ONO CHRTO.* 

Dr. Blacklock informed me that 
this song was composed on the infamous 
massacre at Glencoe. 

Oh ! was not I a weary wight ! 
Maid, wife and widow rn one night ! 
When in my soft and yielding arms, [harms, 
Oh! when most I thought him free frcto 



Even at the dead time of the night 

They broke my bower, and slew my knight. 

With ae lock of his jet-black hair 

I'll tie my heart for evermair ; 

Nae sly-tongued youth, nor flattering swam. 

Shall e'er untie this knot again ; 

Thine still, dear youth, that heart shall be. 

Nor pant for aught save heaven and thee. 



I'LL KEVER LEAVE THEE. 

This is another of Crawford's songs, 
but I do not think in his happiest man- 
ner. What an absurdity to join such 
names as Adonis and Mary together! 

One day I heard Mary say, 

How shall I leave thee ; 
Stay, dearest Adonis, stay. 

Why wilt thou grieve me ? 



CORN-RIGS ARE BONNY. 

All the old words that ever I couid 
meet to this air were the following^ 



which seem 
chorus ; — 



to have been an old 



Oh, corn-rigs and rye-rigs. 

Oh, corn-rigs are bonny ; 
And, where'er you meet a bonny lass. 

Preen up her cockernony. 



* A vitiated pronunciation of " Ochoin och 
rie" — a Gaelic exclamation expressive of deep 
Borrow and affliction. 



BIDE YE YET. 

There is a beautiful song to this 
tune, beginning, 

" Alas ! my son, you little know," 

which is the composition of Miss 
Jenny Graham, of Dumfries. 

Alas ! my son, you little know 
The sorrows that from wedlock flow ; 
Farewell to every day of ease 
When you have got a wife to please. 

Sae bide ye yet, and bide ye yet. 
Ye little ken what's to betide ye yet; 
The half o' that will gane ye yet, 
Gif a wayward wife obtain ye yet. 

Your hopes are high, your wisdom small, 
Woe has not had you in its thrall ; 
The black cow on your foot ne'er trod. 
Which gars you sing along the road. 
Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Sometimes the rock, sometimes the reel, 
Or some piece of the spinning-wheel, 
She'll drive at you, my bonny chiel. 
And send you headlang to the deil, 
Sae bide ye yet, &c. 



REMAEKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



315 



When I, like you, was young and free, 
I valued not the proudest she ; 
Like you, my boast was bold and vain, 
That men alone were born to reign. 
Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Great Hercules, and Samson too, 
Were stronger far than I or you ; 
Yet they were baffled by their dears. 
And telt the distaff and the shears. 
Sae bide ye yet, &c. 

Stout gates of brass and well-built walls 
Are proof 'gainst swords and cannon balls ; 
But nought is found, by sea or land. 
That can a wayward wife withstand. 
Sae bide ye yet, &c. 



Heee tlie remarks on the first vol- 
ume of tlie Musical Museum conclude: 
the second volume has tlie following 
preface from the pen of Burns: — 

" In the first volume of this work, 
two or three airs, not of Scots com- 
position, have been inadvertently in- 
serted; which, whatever excellence 
they may have, was improper, as the 
collection is solely to be the music of 
our own country. The songs con- 
tained in this volume, both music and 
poetry, are all of them the work of 
Scotsmen. Wherever the old words 
could be recovered, they had been pre- 
ferred . both as suiting better the genius 
of the tunes, and to preserve the pro- 
ductions of those earlier sons of the 
Scottish muses, some of whose names 
deserved a better fate than has be- 
fallen them, — 'Buried 'midst the wreck 
of things which were.' Of our more 
modern songs, the editor has inserted 
the author's names as far as he can 
ascertain them; and as that was 
neglected in the first volume, it is an- 
nexed here. If he have made any 
mistakes in this affair, which he possi- 
bly may, he will be very grateful at 
being set right. 

" Ignorance and prejudice may per- 
haps affect to sneer at the simplicity of 
the poetry or music of some of these 
poems; but their having been for ages 
the favourites of nature's judges — the 
common people — was to the editor a 
sufficient test of their merit. 

" Edinburgh, March i, 1778," 



TRx^NENT MUIR. 

"Tranent Mum" was composed 
by a Mr. Skirving, a very worthy, re- 
spectable farmer, near Haddington.* 
I have heard the anecdote often, that 
Lieut. Smith, whom he mentions in tho 
ninth stanza, came to Haddington after 
the publication of the song, and sent a 
challenge to Skirving to meet him at 
Haddington, and answer for the un- 
worthy manner in which he had noticed 
him In his song. " Gang away back," 
said the honest farmer, ' 'and tell Mr. 
Smith that I hae nae leisure to come to 
Haddington; but tell him to come here, 
and I'll tak a look o' him, and if he 
thmk I'm St to fecht him, I'll fecht 
Inm; and if no, I'll do as he did — I'll 
rin mm'I" 

Stanza ninth, as well as tenth, to which the 
anecdote refers, shows that the anger of the 
lieutenant was anything but unreasonable. 

And Major Bowie, that worthy soul. 

Was brought down to the ground, man ; 
His horse being shot, it was his lot 

For to get many a wound, man : 
Lieutetiant Smithy of Irish birth, 

Frae whom he called for aid, man. 
Being full of dread, lap o'er his head, 

And wadna be gainsay'd, man ! 

He made sic haste, sae spurr'd his baist, 

'Twas little there he saw, man ; 
To Berwick rade, and falsely said 

The Scots were rebels a', man : 
But let that end, for well 'tis kenn'd. 

His use and wont to lie, man ; 
The teague is naught, he never faught 

When he had room to flee, man. 



POLWARTf ON THE GREEN, 

The author of "Pol wart on the 
Green" is Capt. John Drummond 
M'Gregor, of the family of Bochaldie. \ 

At Polwart on the green, 
If you'll meet me the morn. 



* Mr. Skirving was tenant of East Garleton, 
about a mile and a half to the north of Had- 
dington. 

t " Polwart is a pleasant village situate 
near Dunse, in Berwickshire. In the middle 
of the village stand two venerable thorns, 
round which the Polwart maidens, wheo they 
became brides, danced with their partners on 
the day of the bridal." — Cunningham. 

X The poet ^s in error here. The best au- 
thorities agree in ascribing the authorship oj 
the song to Allan Raiasay. 



816 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Where lasses df conveen 
To dance about the thorn, 

A kindly welcome ye shall meet 
Frae her wha likes to view 

A lover and a lad complete — 
The lad and lover you. 

Let dorty dames say na 

As lang as e'er they please. 
Seem caulder than the snaw. 

While inwardly they bleeze. 
But I will frankly shaw my mind, 

And yield my heart to thee ; 
Be ever to the captive kind 

That langs na to be free. 

At Polwart on the green, 

Amang the new-mown hay. 
With sangs and dancing keen 

We'll pass the heartsome day. 
At night, if beds be o'er thrang laid, 

And thou be twined of thine, 
Thou shalt be welcome, my dear lad, 

To take a part of mine. 



STREPHON AND LYDIA. 

The following account of this song 
I had from Dr. Blacklock; — 

The Strephon and Lydia mentioned 
in the song were perhaps the loveliest 
couple of their time. The gentleman 
was commonly known by the name of 
Beau Gibson. The lady was the ' 'Gentle 
Jean," celebrated somewhere in 
Hamilton of Bangour's poems. — Hav- 
ing frequently met at public places, they 
had formed a reciprocal attachment, 
which their friends thought dangerous, 
as their resources were by no means 
adequate to their tastes and habits of 
life. To elude the bad consequences 
of such a connection, Strephon was sent 
abroad With a commission, and perished 
in Admiral Vernon's expedition to Car- 
thagena. 

The author of the song was William 
Wallace, Esq., of Cairnhill, in Ayr- 
shire. 

All lonely on the sultry beach. 

Expiring, Strephon lay ; 
No hand the cordial draught to reach, 

Nor cheer the gloomy way. 
Ill-fated youth ! no parent nigh 

To catch thy fleeting breath, 
No bride to fix thy swimming eye. 

Or smooth the face of death ! 

Far distant from the mournful scene 

Thy parents sit at ease ; 
Thy Lydia rifles all the plain. 

And all the spring, to please. 



Ill-fated youth ! by fault of friend. 
Not force of foe, depress'd, 

Thou fall'st, alas ! thyself, thy kind. 
Thy country, unredress'd J 



MY JO, JANET. 

OF THE "MUSEUM." 

Johnson, the publisher, with a 
foolish delicacy, refused to insert the 
last stanza of this humorous ballad. 

Oh, sweet sir, for your courtesie, 

When ye come by the Bass then, 
For the love ye bear to me. 

Buy me a keeking-glass then. 
Keek into the draw-well, 

Janet, Janet ; 
And there ye'll see your bonny sel'. 
My jo, Janet. 

Keeking in the draw-well clear. 

What if I should fa' in then ; 
Syne a' my kin will say and swear 

I drown'd raysel' for sin, then. 
Haud the better by the brae, 

Janet, Janet ! 
Haud the better by the brae. 

My jo, Janet. 

Good sir, for your courtesie. 

Coming through Aberdeen then, 
For the love ye bear to me, 

Buy me a pair of sheen then. 
Clout the auld, the new are dear, 
Janet, Janet; 
A pair may gain ye half a year, 
My jo, Janet. 

But what, if dancing on the green. 

And skipping like a maukin. 
If they should see my clouted sheen. 

Of me they will be talkin'. 
Dance aye laigh, and late at e'en, 
Janet, Janet ; 
Syne a' their fauts will no be seen, 
My jo, Janet. 

Kind sir, for your courtesie. 

When ye gae to the cross then. 
For the love ye bear to me, 

Buy me a pacing horse then. 
Paceupo' your spinning-wheel, 

Janet, Janet ; 
Pace upo' your spinning-wheel. 
My jo, Janet. 

My spinning-wheel is auld and stiff, 

The rock o't wmna stand, sir ; 
To keep the temper-pin in tiff 

Employs right aft my hand, sir. 
Mak the best o' that ye can, 

Janet, Janet ; 
But hke it never wale a man. 

My jo, Janet. 



LOVE IS THE CAUSE OF MY 
MOURNING. 

The words by a Mr. R. Scott, from 
the town or neiglibourliood of Biggar. 

The first stanza of this fine song is as fol- 
lows : — 
By a murmuring stream a fair shepherdess 

lay, 
Be so kind, O ye nymphs, I oft heard her say, 
Tell Strephon I die, if he passes this v/ay, 

And love is the cause of my mourning. 
False shepherds, that tell me of beauty and 
charms, [v.'arms, 

Deceive me, for Strephon's cold heart never 
Yet bring me this Strephon, I'll die in his 
arms ; 
O Strephon ! the cause of my mourning. 
But first, said she, let me go 
Down to the shades below, 
Ere ye let Strephon know 
That I have loved him so : 
Then on my pale cheek no blushes will show 
That love is the cause of my mourning. 



FIFE, AND A* THE LANDS ABOUT 
IT. 

This scng is Dr. Blacklock's. He, as 
well as I, often gave Johnston verses, 
trifling enough, perhaps, but they serv- 
ed as a vehicle to the music. 

Allan, by his grief excited, 

Long the victim of despair. 
Thus deplored his passion slighted. 

Thus address'd the scornful fair: 
" Fife, and all the lands about it, 

Undesiring, I can see ; 
Joy may crown my days without it. 

Not, my charmer, without thee. 

" Must I then forever languish, 

Still complaining, still endure ? 
Can her form create an anguish 

Which her soul disdains to cure? 
Why, by hopeless passion fated, 

Must I still those eyes admire. 
Whilst unheeded, unregretted, 

In her presence I expire ? 

" Would thy charms improve their power, 

Timely think, relentless maid ; 
Beauty is a short-lived flower, 

Destined but to bloom and fade ! 
Let that heaven, whose kind impression 

All thy lovely features show. 
Melt thy soul to soft compassion 

For a suffering lover's woe." 



WERENA 



MY HEART 
WAD DIE. 



LIGHT I 



Lord Hailes, in the notes to his 
Collection of ancient Scots poems, says 



that this song was the composition of 
Lady Grisel Baillie, daughter of the first 
Earl of Marchmont, and wife of George 
Baillie of Jerviswood. 

There was ance a may, and she lo'd na men, 
She biggit her bonny bower down in yon glen ; 
But now she cries dool ! and ah, well-a-day ! 
Come down the green gate, and come here 
away. 

When bonny young Johnny came o'er the sea, 
He said he saw naething sae lovely as me ; 
He hecht me baith rings and mony braw 

things ; 
And warena my heart light I wad die. 

He had a wee titty that lo'd na me. 

Because I was twice as bonny as she : 

She raised such a pother 'tvirixt him and his 

mother. 
That werena my heart light I wad die. 

The day it was set, and the bridal to be. 
The wife took a dwam, and laid down to die ; 
She main'd and she grain'd, out of dolour and 

pain. 
Till he vow'd he never wad see me again. 

His kin was for ane of a higher degree. 
Said, What had he to do with the like of me ? 
Albeit I was bonny, I wasna for Johnny 
And werena my heart light I wad die. 

They said I had neither cow nor caff. 
Nor dribbles of drink rins through the draff. 
Nor pickles of meal rins through the miU-ee ; 
And werena my heart light I wad die. 

His titty she was baith wily and slee. 
She spied me as I came o'er thee lee ; 
And then she ran in, and made a loud din, 
Believe your ain een, an ye trow na me. 

His bonnet stood ance fu' round on his brow. 
His auld ane looks aye as weel as some's new ; 
But now he lets't wear ony gate it will hing. 
And casts himself dowie upon the com-bing. 

And now he gaes drooping about the dykes, 
And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes : 
The live-lang night he ne'er steeks his ee. 
And werena my heart light I wad die. 

Were I young for thee, as I ance hae been. 
We should hae been galloping down on yon 

green. 
And linking it on the lily-white lee ; 
And wow gin I were but young for thee ! 



THE YOUNG MAN'S DREAM. 

This song is the composition of Bal- 
loon Tytler, mentioned at p. 310. 

One night I dream'd I lay most easy. 

By a murmuring river side. 
Where lovely banks were spread with daisies^ 

And the streams did smoothly glide ; 



318 



BURNS' WORKS. 



While around me, and quite over. 
Spreading branches were display'd, 

All interwoven in due order, 
Soon became a pleasant shade. 

I saw my lass come in most charming. 

With a look and air so sweet ; 
Every grace was most alarming. 

Every beauty most complete. 
Cupid with his bow attended ; 

Lovely Venus too was there : 
As his bow young Cupid bended. 

Far away flew carking care. 

On a bank of roses seated, 

Charming my true-love sung; 
While glad echo still repeated, 

And the hills and valleys rung' 
At the last, by sleep oppress'd 

On the bank my love did lie, 
By young Cupid still caress'd. 

While the graces round did fly. 

The rose's red, the lily's blossom, 

With her charms mjght not compare. 
To view her cheeks and heaving bosom, 

Down they droop'd as in despair. 
On her slumber I encroaching, 

Panting came to steal a kiss : 
Cupid smiled at me approaching, 

Seem'd to say, " There's nought amiss." 

With eager wishes I drew nigher. 

This fair maiden to embrace : 
My breath grew quick, my pulse beat higher, 

Gazmg on her lovely face. 



The nymph, awaking, quickly check'd me. 

Starting up, with angry tone ; 
" Thus," says she, " do you respect me ? 

Leave me quick, and hence begone." 
Cupid for me interposing. 

To my love did bow full lowj 
She from him her hands unloosing. 

In contempt struck down his bow. 

Angry Cupid from her flying. 

Cried out, as he sought the skies, 
" Haughty nymphs, their love denying, 

Cupid ever shall despise." 
As he spoke, old care came wandering, 

With him stalk'd destructive Time ; 
Winter froze the streams meandering. 

Nipt the roses in their prime. 

Spectres then my love surrounded. 

At their back march'd chilling Death. 
Whilst she, frighted and confounded. 

Felt their blasting, pois'nous breath ; 
As her charms were swift decaying. 

And the furrows seized her cheek ; 
Forbear, ye fiends ! I vainly crying, 

Waked in the attempt to speak. 



THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND. 
Dr. BLACKLOCKtold me that Smollett 
who was at the bottom a great Jacob- 



ite, composed these beautiful ard 
pathetic verses on the infamous depr t- 
dations of the Duke of Cumberlai 4 
after the battle of CuUoden. 

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn, 
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn ! 
Thy sons for valour long renown'd. 
Lie slaughter'd on their native ground : 
Thy hospitable roofs no more 
Invite the stranger to the door ; 
In smoky ruins sunk they lie, 
The monuments of cruelty. 

The wretched owner sees, afar. 
His all become the prey of war ; 
Bethinks him of his babes and wife, 
Then smites his breast, and curses life. 
Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks 
Where once they fed their wanton flocks : 
Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain ; 
Thy infants perish on the plain. 

What boots it then, in every clime. 
Through the wide-spreading waste of time J 
Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, 
Still shone with undiminish'd blaze : 
Thy towering spirit now is broke. 
Thy neck is bended to the yoke : 
What foreign arms could never quell 
By civil rage and rancour fell. 

The rural pipe and merry lay 
No more shall cheer the happy day : 
No social scenes of gay delight 
Beguile the dreary winter night : 
No strains, but those of sorrow, flow. 
And nought be heard but sounds of woe : 
Wliile the pale phantoms of the slain 
Glide nightly o er the silent ptein. 

Oh ! baneful cause — oh ! fatal morn. 
Accursed to ages yet unborn ! 
The sons against their father stood ; 
The parent shed his children's blood ! 
Yet, when the rage of battle ceased. 
The victor's soul was not appeased ; 
The naked and forlorn must feel 
Devouring flames and murdering steel. 

The pious mother, doom'd to death, 

Forsaken, wanders o'er the heath. 

The bleak wind whistles round her head, 

Her helpless orphans cry for bread ; 

Bereft of shelter, food, and friend. 

She views the shades of night descend ; 

And, stretch'd beneath the inclement skiegj 

Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies. 

Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins. 
And unimpair'd remembrance reigns. 
Resentment of my country's fate 
Within my filial breast shall beat; 
And, spite of her insulting foe. 
My sympathising; verse shall flow : 
Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn 
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn ! 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



319 



AH! THE POOR SHEPHERD'S 
MOURNFUL FATE.* 

Tune — " Galashiels." 

The old title, "Sour Plums o' Gal- 
ashiels," probably was tlie beginning 
of a song to this air, which is now lost. 

The tune of Galashiels was com- 
posed about the beginning of the pres- 
ent century by the Laird of Galashiels' 
piper. 

Ah ! the poor shepherd's mournful fate, 

When doom'd to love and languish. 
To bear the scornful fair one's hate. 

Nor dare disclose his anguish ! 
Yet eager looks and dying sighs 

My secret soul discover ; 
While rapture trembling through mine eyes. 

Reveals how much I love her. 
The tender glance, the redd'ning cheek, 

O'erspread with rising blushes, 
A thousand various ways they speak, 

A thousand various wishes. 

For oh ! that form so heavenly fair, 

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling, 
That artless blush and modest air. 

So fatally beguiling ! 
The every look and every grace 

So charm whene'er I view thee, 
Till death o'ertake me in the chase. 

Still will my hopes pursue thee : 
Then when my tedious hours are past, 

Be this last blessing given. 
Low at thy feet to breathe my last, 

And die in sight of heaven. 



MILL, MILL, O. 

The original, or at least a song evi- 
dently prior to Ramsay's, is still extant. 
It runs thus: — 

As I cam down yon waterside. 

And by yon shellin-hill, O, 
There I spied a bonny, bonny lass. 

And a lass that 1 loved right weel, O, 



The mill, mill, O, and the kill, kill, O, 
And the coggin o' Peggy's wheel, O, 

The sack and the sieve, and a' she did 
leave, 
And danced the miller's reel, O. 



WALY, WALY. 

Tn the west country I have heard a 
different edition of the second stanza. 

* William Hamilton of Bangour, an amiable 
and accomplished gentleman, and one of our 
sweetest lyric poets, was the author of this 
eong. 



Instead of the four lines, beginning 
with, ' ' When cockle-shells, " &c. , the 
other way ran thus: — 

Oh, wherefore need I busk my head, 
Or wherefore need I kame my hair. 

Sin my fause luve has me forsook. 
And says he'll never luve me main 

Oh, waly, waly, up yon bank. 

And waly, waly, down yon brae. 
And waly by yon burn side. 

Where I and my love were wont to gae 
Oh, waly, waly, love is bonny 

A little while, when it is new ; 
But when it's auld it waxeth cauld. 

And fades away like morning dew. 

When cockle shells turn siller bells, 

And mussels grow on every tree. 
When frost and snaw shall warm us a'. 

Then shall my love prove true to me. 
I leant my back unto an aik, 

I thought it was a trustie tree ; 
But first it bow'd, and syne it brake. 

And sae did my fause love to me. 

Now Arther Seat shall be my bed. 
The sheets shall ne'er be filed by me : 

Saint Anton's well shall be my drink. 
Since my true love's forsaken me. 

O Mart'mas wind, whan wilt thou blaw, 
And shake the green leaves aff the tree J 

gentle death, whan wilt thou cum, 
And tak a life that wearies me ? 

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell. 

Nor blawing snaw's inclemcncife ! 
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, 

But my love's heart grown cauld to me. 
When we cam in by Glasgow town, 

We were a comely sight to see ; 
My love was clad in velvet black. 

And I mysel in cramasie. 

But had I wist before I kisst. 
That love had been sae ill to win, 

1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd. 
And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. 

Oh, oh ! if my young babe were born. 
And set upon the nurse's knee. 

And 1 mysel were dead and gone ; 
For a maid again I'll never be. 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

Dr.Bt.acklock informed me that he 
had often heard the tradition tliat this 
air was composed by a carman in 
Glassrow. 



DUMBARTON DRUMS. 

This is the last of the West High- 
land airs; and from it, over the whole 
tract of country to the confines of 



830 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Tweed-side, there is hardly a tune or 
song that one can say has taken its 
origin from any place or transaction in 
that part of Scotland. — The oldest Ayr- 
shire reel is Stewarton Lasses, which 
was made by the father of the present 
Sir Walter Montgomery Cunningham, 
alia,s Lord Lysle, since which period 
there has indeed been local music in 
that country in great plenty. — Johnnie 
Faa is the only old song which I could 
ever trace as belonging to the extensive 
county of Ayr. 

Dumbarton's drums beat bonny, O, 

When they mind me of my dear Johnnie, O, 

How happy am I 

When my soldier is by. 
While he kisses and blesses his Annie, O, 
'Tis a soldier alone can delight me, O, 
For his graceful looks do unite me, O ; 

While guarded in his arms, 

I'll fear no war's alarms, [O, 

Neither danger nor death shall e'er fright me, 

My love is a handsome laddie, O, 
Genteel, but ne'er foppish or gaudy, O 

Though commissions are dear, 

Yet I'll buy him one this year. 
For he shall serve no longer a caddie, O ; 
A soldier has honour and bravery, O, [O, 

Unacquainted with rogues and their knavery. 

He minds no other thing, 

But the ladies or the King, 
For every other care is but slavery, O. 

Then I'll be the captain's lady ; O, 
Farewell all my friends and my daddy, O ; 

I'll wait no more at home. 

But I'll follow with the drum. 
And whene'er that beats I'll be ready, O, 
Dumbarton drums sound bonny, O, 
They are sprightly like my dear Johnnie, O ; 

How happy shall I be. 

When on my soldier's knee, 
And he kisses and blesses his Annie, O ! 



CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. 

This song is by the Duke of Gordon. 
The old verses are. 

There's cauld kail in Aberdeen. 

And castocks in Strathbogie ; 
When ilka lad maun hae his lass. 

Then fye gie me my coggie. 
There's Johnnie Smith has got a wife. 

That scrimps him o' his coggie^ 
If she were mine, upon my life 

I wad douk her in a boggie. 



My coggie, sirs, my coggie, sirs, 
I cannot want my coggie : 

I wadna gie my three-girt cap 
For e'er a cjuean in Bogie. 



" The ' Cauld Kail' of his Grace of Gordon," 
says Cunningham, " has long been a favour- 
ite in the north, and deservedly so, for it is 
full of life and manners. It is almost needless 
to say that kail is coiewort, and much used in 
broth : that castocks are the stalks of a com- 
mon cabbage ; and that coggie is a wooden 
dish for holding porridge : it is also a drinking 
vessel." 

There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, 

And castocks in Stra'bogie ; 
Gin I but hae a bonny lass, 

Ye're welcome to your coggie ; 
And ye may sit up a' the night, 

And drink till it be braid day-light — 
Gie me a lass baith clean and tight, 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie. 

In cotillons the French excel ; 

John Bull loves country-dances : 
The Spaniards dance fandangos well ; 

Mynheer an allemande prances : 
In foursome reels the Scots delight. 

At threesome they dance wondrous light, 
But twasome ding a' out o' sight. 

Danced to the Reel o' Bogie. 

Come, lads, and view your partners well, 

Wale each a blithesome rogie ; 
I'll tak this lassie to mysel, 

She looks sae keen and vogie ! 
Now, piper lad, bang up the spring: 

The country fashion is the thing. 
To prie their mous e'er we begin 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie. 

Now ilka lad has got a lass. 

Save yon auld doited fogie ; 
And la'en a fling upo' the grass. 

As they do in Stra'bogie ; 
But a' the lasses look sae fain. 

We canna think oursels to hain. 
For they maun hae their come-again ; 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie. 

Now a' the lads hae done their best. 

Like true men o' Stra'bogie ; 
We'll stop a while and tak a rest, 

And tipple out a coggie. 
Come now, my lads, and tak your glass. 

And try ilk other to surpass. 
In wishing health to every lass. 

To dance the Reel o' Bogie. 



FOR LACK OF GOLD. 

The country girls in Ayrshire, in- 
stead of the line — 

" She me forsook for a great duke," 



"For Athole's duke she me forsook ;" 

which I take to be the original reading. 
This song was written by tlie late Dr. 



REMARKS Oi!T SCOTTISH SONG. 



331 



Austin,* physician at Edinburgh. — He 
had courted a lady, to whom he was 
shortly to have been married; but the 
Duke of Athole, having seen her, be- 
came so much in love with her, that he 
made proposals of marriage, which 
were accepted of, and she jilted the 
doctor. 

For lack of gold she's left me, oW ? 
And of all that's dear bereft me, <»h ! 
For Athole's duke, she me forsooK, 

And to endless care has left me, oh ! 
A star and garter have more art 
Than youth, a true and faithful heart, 
For empty titles we must part, 

And for glitt'ring show she's left me, oh ! 

No cruel fair shaH ever move 
My injured heart again to love, 
Through distant climates I must rove, 

Since Jeanie she has left me, oh ! 
Ye powers above, I to your care 
Resign my faithless lovely fair. 
Your choicest blessings be her share, 

Though she's forever left me, oh ! 



HERE'S A HEALTH TO MY TRUE 
LOVE, &c. 

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. H3 
told me that tradition gives the air to 
our James IV, of Scotland. 

To me what are riches encumber'd with care ! 
To me what is pomp's insignificant glare ! 
No minion of fortune, no pageant of state, 
Shall ever induce me to envy his fate. 

Their personal graces let fops idolize. 
Whose life is but death in a splendid disguise ; 
But soon the pale tyrant his right shall re- 
sume. 
And all their false lustre be hid in the tomb. 

Let the meteor discovery attract the fond 

sage, 
In fruitless researches for life to engage ; 
Content with my portion, the rest I forego, 
Nor labour to gain disappointment and woe. 

Contemptibly fond of contemptible self. 
While misers their wishes concentre in pelf : 
Let the godlike delight of imparting be mine, 
Enjoyment reflected is pleasure divine. 



* " The doctor gave his woes an airing in 
song, and then married a very agreeable and 
beautiful lady, by whom he had a numerous 
family. Nor did Jean Drummond, of Meg- 
gingh, break her heart when James, Duke of, 
Athole, died : she dried her tears, and gave 
her hand to Lord Adam Gordon. The song 
is creditable to the author."— Cunningham. 



Extensive dominion and absolute power. 
May tickle ■.-imbition, perhaps for an hour ; 
But power in possession soon loses its charms, 
While conscience remonstrates, and terror 
alarms. 

With vigour, oh, teach me, kind Heaven, to 

sustain 
Those ills which in life to be suffer'd remain ; 
Ana when 'tis allow'd me the goal to descry. 
For my species I lived, for myself let me die. 



HEY TUTTI TAITl 

1 HAVE met the tradition universally 
over Scotland, and particularly about 
Stirling, in the neighbourhood of the 
scene, that this air was Robert Bruce 's 
march at the Battle of Bannockburn. 



TAK YOUR AULD CLOAK ABOUT 
YE. 

A PART of this old song, according 
to the English set of it, is quoted in 
Shakespeare. 

In winter when the rain rain'd cauld. 

And frost and snaw on ilka hill, 
And Boreas, with his blasts sae bauld, 

Was threat'ning a' our kye to kill : 
Then Bell my wife, wha loves na strife, 

She said to me right hastily, 
Get up goodman, save Cromie's life. 

And tak your auld cloak about ye. 

My Cromie is a useful cow. 

And she is come of a good kyne ; 
Aft has she wet the bairns, mou, 

And I am laith that she should tyne. 
Get up, goodman, it is fu' time. 

The sun shines in the lift sae hie. 
Sloth never made a gracious end, 

Go tak your auld cloak about ye. 

My cloak was ance a good gray cloak, 

When it was fitting for my wear; 
But now it's scantly worth a groat. 

For I have worn't this thirty year. 
Let's spend the gear that we have won. 

We little ken the day we'll die ; 
Then I'll be proud since I have sworn 

To have a new cloak about me. 

In days when our King Robert rang 

His trews they cost but half a crown ; 
He said they were a groat o'er dear, 

And call'd the tailor thief and louQ 
He was the king that wore a crown. 

And thou the man of laigh degree, 
'Tis pride puts a' the country down. 

Sac tak thy auld cloak about thee. 



829 



BUENS' WORKS. 



YE GODS, WAS STREPHON'S 
PICTURE BLEST ?* 
Tune—" Fourteenth of October." 
The title of this air shows tliat it al- 
ludes to the famous King Crispian, the 
patron of the honourable corporation 
of shoemakers. St Orispian's day falls 
on the 14tli of October, old style, as the 
old proverb tells: — 

"On the fourteenth of October, 
Was ne'er a sutor* sober." 

Ye gods, was Strephon's picture blest 
With the fair heaven of Chloe's breast? 
Move softer, thou fond flutt'ring heart, 
Oh, gently tlirob, too fierce thou art. 
Tell me, thou brightest of thy kind, 
For Strephon was the bliss design'd ? 
For Strephon's sake, dear charming maid. 
Didst thou prefer his wand'ring shade ? 

And thou bless'd shade that sweetly art 
Lodged so near my Chloe's heart, 
For me the tender hour improve. 
And softly tell how dear I love. 
Ungrateful thing ! it scorns to hear 
Its wretched master's ardent prayer, 
Ingrossing all that beauteous heaven 
That Chloe, lavish maid, has given. 

I cannot blame thee: were I lord 

Of all the wealth these breasts afford ; 

I'd be a miser too, nor give 

An alms to keep a god alive. 

Oh ! smile not thus, my lovely fair, 

On these cold looks that lifeless are : 

Prize him whose bosom glows with fire 

With eager love and soft desire. 

'Tis true thy charms, O powerful maid ! 
To life can bring the silent shade ; 
Thou canst surpass the painter's art, 
And real warmth and flames impart. 
But, oh ! it ne'er can love like me, 
I ever loved, and loved but thee ; 
Then, charmer, grant my fond request ; 
Say, thou canst love, and make me blest. 



SINCE EOBB'D OP ALL THAT 
CHARM'D MY VIEW. 

The old name of this air is " The 
Blossom o* the Raspberry." The song 
is Dr. Blacklock's. 



1 Shoemaker. 
♦This song was composed by Hamilton of 
Bangour on hearing that a young lady of 
beauty and rank wore his picture in her 
bosom. 



As the song is a long one, we can only g\vt 
the first and last verses : — 

Since robb'd of all that charmed my view, 

Of all my soul e'er fancied fair. 
Ye smiling native scenes adieu. 

With each delightful object there ! 
Oh ! when my heart revolves the joys 

Which in your sweet recess I knew, 
The last dread shock, which life destroys, 

Is heaven compared with losing you I 

Ah me ! had Heaven and she proved kind. 

Then full of age, and free from care, 
How blest had I my life resigned, 

Where first I breathed this vital air : 
But since no flatt'ring hope remains. 

Let me my wretched lot pursue ; 
Adieu ! dear friends and native scenes! 

To all but grief and love, adieu ! 



YOUNG DAMON. 
Tune — " Highland Lamentation." 
This air is by Oswald.* 

Amidst a rosy bank of flowers 

Young Damon mourn'd his forlorn fate 
In sighs he spent his languid hours. 

And breathed his woes in lonely state ; 
Gay joy no more shall ease his mind, 

No wanton sports can soothe his care. 
Since sweet Amanda proved unkind. 

And left him full of black despair. 

His looks, that were as fresh as morn. 

Can now no longer smiles impart ; 
His pensive soul on sadness borne. 

Is rack'd and torn by Cupid's dart ; 
Turn, fair Amanda, cheer your swain, 

Unshroud him from this vale of woe ; 
Range every charm to soothe the pain 

That in his tortured breast doth grow. 



KIRK WAD LET ME BE. 

Tradition in the western parta <tt 
Scotland tells that this old song, of 
which there are still three stanzas ex- 
tant, once saved a covenanting clergy- 
man out of a scrape. It was a little prior 
to the Revolution — a period when being 
a Scots covenanter was being a felon — 
that one of their clergy, who was at 
that very time hunted by the merciless 
soldiery, fell in by accident with a party 
of the military. The soldiers were not 
exactly acquainted with the person of 
the reverend gentleman of whom they 
were in search; but from suspicious 



*The words are by Fergusson. 



TIEMATIKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



323 



circumstance.?, they fancied that they 
had got one of that cloth and oppro- 
bious persuasion among them in the 
person of tills stranger. "Mass J-jhu," 
to extricate liimself , assumed a freedom 
of manners very unlike the gloomy 
strictness of his sect: and, among other 
convivial exhibitions, sung (and, some 
traditions say, composed on the spur 
of the occasion) " Kirk wad let me be," 
with such effect, that the soldiers 

swore he was a d d honest fellow, 

and that it was impossible he could 
belong to those hellish conventicles; 
and so gave him his liberty. 

The first stanza of this song, a little al- 
tered, is a favourite kind of dramatic in- 
terlude acted at country weddings in the 
south-west parts of the kingdom. A 
young fellow is dressed up like an old 
beggar; a peruke, commonly made of 
carded tow, represents hoary locks; an 
old bonnet; a ragged plaid, or surtout, 
bound with a straw rope for a girdle; 
a pair of old shoes, with straw ropes 
twisted round his ankles, as is done by 
shepherds in snowy weather: his face 
they disguise as like wretched old age 
as they can: in this plight he is brought 
into the wedding house, frequently to 
the astonishment of strangers, who are 
not in the secret, and begins to sing — 

" Oh, I am a silly auld man, 
My name it is auld Glenae,"* &c. 

He is asked to drink, and by and by 
to dance, which, after some uncouth 
excuses, he is prevailed on to do, the 
fiddler playing the tune, which here is 
commonly called " Auld Glenae;" in 
short, he is all the time so plied with 
liquor that he is understood to get in- 
toxicated, and, with all the ridiculous 
gesticulations of an old drunken beg- 
gar, he dances and staggei's until he 
falls on the floor; yet still, in all his 
riot, nay, in his rolling and tumbling on 
the floor, with some or other drunken 
motion of his body, he beats time to 
the music, till at last he is supposed to 
be carried out dead drunk. 



* Glenae, on the small river Ae, in Annan- 
dale ; the seat and designation of an ancient 
branch, and the present representative, of the 
gallant but unfortunate DaUels of Carnwalh. 
^-This is the A uthor' s note. 



There are many versions of this Nithsdale 
song; one L f the least objectionable is as fol- 
lows :^ 

I AM a silly puir man, 

Gaun hirphn owrre a tree ; 
For cuurtmg a lass in the dark 

The kirk came haunting me. 
If a' my rags were off. 

And nought but hale claeson, 
Oh, I could please a young lass 

As well as a richer man. 

The parson he ca'd me a rogue. 

The session and a' thegither, 
The justice he cried, You dog, 

Your knavery I'll consider: 
Sae I drapt down on my knee 

And thus did humbly pray. 
Oh, if ye'U let me gae free. 

My hale confession ye'se hae. 

'Tvvas late on tysday at e'en, 

When the moon was on the grass ; 
Oh, just for charity's sake, 

I was kind to a beggar lass. 
She had begg'd down Annan side, 

Lochmaben and Hightae ; 
But deil an a wmous she got, 

Till she met wi' auld Glenae, &c. 



JOHNNY FAA, OR THE GIPSY 
LADDIE. 

The people in Ayrshire begin this 
song — 
" The gipsies cam to my Lord Cassilis' yett." 

They have a great many more stanzas 
in this song than I ever yet saw in any 
printed copy. The castle is still re- 
maining at Maybole where his lordship 
shut up his wayward spouse, and kept 
her for life. 

The gipsies came to our lord' s gate. 
And wow but they sang sweetly ; 

They sang sae sweet, and sae complete, 
That down came the fair lady. 

When she came tripping down the stair, 

And a' her maids before her, 
As soon as they saw her weel-fard face. 

They coost the glamour o'er her. 

" Gar tak fra me this gay mantile, 

And bring to me a plaidie ; 
For if kith and kin and a' had sworn, 

I'll follow the gipsy laddie. 

" Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed, 

And my good lord beside me ; 
This night I'll lie in a tenant's barn, 

Whatever shall betide me." 

Oh ! come to your bed, says Johnny Faa, 
Oh ! come to your bed, my dearie ; 

For I vow and swear by the hilt of my Fword 
That your lord shall nae mair come near ye. 



334 



BURNS' WORKS. 



" 111 go to bed to my Johnny Faa, 

And I'll go to bed to my dearie ; 
For I vow and swear by what pass'd yestreen 

That my lord shall nae mair come near me." 

" 111 mak a hap to my Johnny Faa, 
And I'll mak a hap to my dearie ; 

And he's get a' the coat gaes round, 
And my lord shall na mair come near me." 

And when our lord came hame at e'en, 

And speir'd for his fair lady, 
The tane she cried, and the other replied, 

She's awa' wi' the gipsy laddie, 

" Gae saddle to me the black, black steed, 
Gae saddle and make him ready ; 

Before that I either eat or sleep 
I'll gae seek my fair lady." 

And we were fifteen well-made men, 

Although we were nae bonny ; 
And we were a' put down for ane, 

A fair, young, wanton lady. 



TO DAUNTON ME. 

The two following old stanzas to 
tills tune have some merit, — 

To daunton me, todaunton me. 

Oh, ken ye what it is that '11 daunton me ? — 

There's eighty-eight and eighty-nine. 

And a' that I hae borne sinsyne, 

There's cess and press,' and Preshytrie, 

I think it will do meikle for to daunton me. 

But to wanton me, to wanton me. 

Oh, ken ye what it is that wad wanton me ? 

To see guid corn upon the rigs, 

And banishment amang the Whigs, 

And right restored where right sud be. 

I think it would'do meikle for to wanton me. 



ABSENCE. 

A SONG in the manner of Shenstone. 

The song and air are both by Dr. 
Blacklock. 

The following are two stanzas of this strain :— 

Ye harvests that wave in the breeze 

As far as the view can extend ; 
Ye mountains umbrageous with trees. 

Whose tops so majestic ascend ; 
Your landscape what joy to survey. 

Were Melissa with me to admire ! 
Then the harvests Would glitter how gay, 

How majestic the mountains aspire T 

Ye zephyrs that visit my fair, 
Ye sunbeams around her that play,- 

Does het sympathy dwell on my care, 
Does she number the hours of my stay ? 



^ Scot and lot. 



First perish ambition and wealth. 

First perish all else that is dear. 
E'er one sigh should escape her by stealth, 

E'er my absence should cost her one tear. 



I HAL* A HORSE, AND I HAD 
NAE MAIR. 

This story is founded on fact. A 
John Hunter, ancestor of a very re- 
spectable farming family, who live in a 
place in the parish, I think, of Galston, 
called Bar-mill, was the luckless hero 
that "had a horse and had nae mair." 
— For some little youthful follies he 
found it necessary to make a retreat to 
the West Highlands, where ' ' he f ee'd 
himself to a Highland laird," for that 
is the expression of all the oral editions 
of the song I ever heard. The present 
Mr. Hunter, who told me the anecdote, 
is the great grandchild of our hero. 

I HAD a horse, and I had nae mair, 

I gat him frae my daddy , 
My purse was light, and heart was sair. 

But my wit it was fu' ready. 
And sae I thought me on a time, 

Outwittens of my daddy, 
To fee mysel to a lawland laird, 

Wha had a bonny lady. 

I wrote a letter, and thus began,— 

" Madam, be not offended, 
I'm o er the lugs in luv wi' you, 

And care not though ye kend it : 
For I get little frae the laird. 

And far less frae my daddy. 
And I would blithely be the man 

Would strive to please my lady." 

She read my letter, and she leugh, 

" Ye needna been sae blate, man ; 
You might hae come to me yoursel. 

And tauld me o' your state, man ; 
You might hae come to me, yoursel, 

Outwittens o' ony body, 
And made yo/m Gowkstou of the laird. 

And kiss'd his bonny lady." 

Then she pat siller in my purse, 

We drank wine in a coggie ; 
She fee'd a man to rub my horse. 

And wow but I was vogie ! 
But I gat ne'er sae sair a fleg. 

Since I cam frae my daddy,_ 
The laird came, rap, rap, to tne yett. 

When I was wi' his lady. 

Then she pat me below a chair, 

And happ'd me wi' a plaidie ; 
But 1 was like to swarf wi' fear. 

And wished me wi' my daddj', 
The laird went out, he saw nae me, 

I went when I was ready ; 
I promised, but I ne'er gaed back 

To kiss my bonny lady. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



325 



UP AND WARN A', WILLIE. 

This edition of the bong I got from 
Tom Niel, of facetious fame, in Edin- 
burgh. The expression "Up and 
■warn a', Willie," alludes to the Cran- 
tara, or warning of a clan to arms. 
Not understanding this, the Low- 
landers in the west and south say, "Up 
and wauT them a'." &c. 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 

It is remark- worthy that the song of 
'* Hooly and Fairly," in all the old 
editions of it, is called " The Drunken 
Wife o' Galloway," which localises it 
to that country. 



There's Auld Rob Morris that wins in yon 
glen, [auld men : 

He's the king o' g-ude fallows, and wale o 

Has fourscore o' black sheep, and fourscore 
too. 

And auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 

DOUGHTER. 

Haud your tongue, mither, and let that abee, 
For his eild and my eild can never agree ; 
They'll never agree, and that will be seen, 
For he is fourscore, and I'm but fifteen. 



Haud you tongue, doughter, and lay by your 
pride, [bride ; 

For he's be the bridegroom, and ye's be the 
He shall lie by your side, and kiss ye too, 
Auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 

DOUGHTER. 

Auld Rob Morris, I ken him fu' weel, 
His back sticks out like ony peat-creel ; 
He's out-shinn'd, in-kneed, and ringle-eed,too, 
Auld Rob Morris is the man I'll ne'er loo. 



Though auld Rob Morris be an elderly man. 
Yet his auld brass it will buy a new pan ; 
Then, doughter, ye shouldna be sae ill to shoo, 
For auld Rob Morris is the man ye maun loo. 

DOUGHTER. 

But auld Rob Morris I never will hae, 

His back is sae stiff, and his beard is grown 

, gray ; 

I had rather die than live wi' him a year, 

Sae mair of Rob Morris 1 never will hear. 

The " Drunken wife o' Galloway" is in an- 
other strain ; the idea is original, and it can- 
not be denied that the author, whoever he 
was, has followed up the conception with 
great spirit. A few verses will prove this. 



Oh ! what had I ado for to marry, [canary • 
My wife she drinks naething but sack and 
I to her friends complain'd risrht early, 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly. 

Hooly and /airly ; hooly and /airly. 

Ok/ gin inywi/e wad drink hooly and fairly! 

First she drank Crommie, and syne she drank 

Garie, 
Then she has drunken my bonny gray mearie. 
That carried me through the dub and the 

lairie. 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

The very gray mittens that gaed on my ban's. 
To her ain neibour wife she has laid them in 
pawns, [dearly, 

Wi' my bane-headed staff that I lo'ed sae 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

I never was given to wrangling nor strife, J 
Nor e'er did refuse her the comforts of life ; 
Ere it come to a war, I'm aye for a parley, 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and lairly ! 

A pint wi' her cummers I wad her allow ; 
But when she sits down she fills hersel fou' ; 
And when she is fou'she's unco camstrairie. 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ! 

An when she comes hame she lays on the 

lads. 
And ca's a' the lasses baith limmers and jads ; 
And I mjr ain sell an auld cuckold carlie. 
Oh ! gin my wife wad drink hooly and fairly ^ 



NANCY'S GHOST. 
This song is by Dr. Blacklock. 

Ah ! hapless man, thy perjured vow 
Was to thy Nancy's heart a grave ! 

The damps of death bedew'd my brow 
Whilst thou the dying maid could save I 

Thus spake the vision, and withdrew ; 

From Sandy's cheeks the crimson fled ; 
Guilt and Despair their arrows threw, 

And now behold the traitor dead ! 

Remember, swains, my artless strains, 
To plighted faith be ever true ; 

And let no injured maid complain 
She finds false Sandy live in you ! 



TUNE YOUR FIDDLES, &c. 

This song was composed by the Rev. 
John Skinner, nonjuror clergyman at 
Linshart, near Peterhead. He is like- 
wise author of " Tullochgorum," 
" Ewie wi' the Crooked Horn," " John 
o' Badenyon," &c., and, what is of still 
more consequence, he is one of the 
worthiest of mankind. He is the 
author of an ecclesiastical history of 



826 



BURNS' WORKS. 



Scotland. The air is by Mr. Marshall, 
butler to the Duke of Gordon — ^tlie first 
composer of strathspeys of the age. 
I have been told by somebody, who 
had it of Marshall himself, that he tooli 
the idea of his three most celebrated 
pieces, " The Marquis of Huntley's 
Reel," "His Farewell," and "Miss 
Admiral Gordon's Reel," from the old 
air, " Tho German Lairdie." 

Tune your fiddles, tune them sweetly, 
Play the Marquis' Reel discreetly ; 
Here we are a band completely 

Fitted to be jolly. 
Come, my boys, be blithe and gaucie, 
Every youngster choose his lassie, 
Dance wi' life, and be not saucy, 

Shy, nor melancholy. 

Lay aside your sour grimaces. 
Clouded brows, and drumlie faces; 
Look about and see their graces. 

How they smile delighted. 
Now's the season to be merry. 
Hang the thoughts of Charon's ferry, 
Time enough to turn camstarv. 

When we're old and doitea.' 



GIL MORICE.* 

This plaintive ballad ought to have 
been called Child Morice, and not Gil 
Morice. In its present dress, it has 
gained immortal honour from Mr. 
Home's taking from it the groundwork 
of his fine tragedy of " Douglas. " But 
I am of opinion that the present ballad 
is a modern composition, — perhaps not 
much above the age of the middle of 
the last century; at least I should 
be glad to see or hear of a copy of the 
present words prior to 1650. That it 
was taken from an old ballad, called 
" Child Maurice," now lost, I am in- 
clined to believe; but the present one 
may be classed with " Hardyknute," 
"Kenneth," " Duncan, the Laird of 
Woodhouselee," " Lord Livingston," 
" Binnorie," "The Death of Monteith," 
and many other modern productions, 
which have been swallowed by many 



* Mr. Pinkerton remarks that, in many 
parts of Scotland, " Gill" at this day signifies 
' Child," as is the case in the Gaelic : thus, 
"Gilchrist" means the "Child of Christ."— 
"Child" seems also to have been the custom- 
ary appellation of a young nobleman, when 
alMut fifteen years of age. 



readers as ancient fragments of old 
poems. This beautiful plaintive tune 
was composed by Mr. M'Gibbon, the 
selecter of a collection of Scots tunes. 

In addition ,to the observations on 
Gil Morice, I add that, of the songs 
which Captain Riddel mentions, ' ' Ken- 
neth" and " Duncan" are juvenile com- 
positions of Mr. M'Kenzie, "The Man 
of Feeling." — M'Kenzie's father 
showed them in MS. to Dr. Blacklock 
as the productions of his son, from 
which the doctor rightly prognosti- 
cated that the young poet would make, 
in his more advanced years, a respect- 
able figure in the world of letters. 

This I had from Blacklock. 



WHEN I UPON THY BOSO"! 
LEAN.* 

This song was the work of a very 
worthy facetious old fellow, Jo'in 
Lapraik, late of Dalfram, near Muir- 
kirk, which little property he v.s.s 
obliged to sell in consequence of some 
connection as security for some persons 
concerned in that villanous bubble, 
The Ayr Bank. He has often trld 
me that he composed this song one i\\y 
when his wife had been fretting ovai 
their misfortunes. 

When I upon thy bosom lean, 

And fondly clasp thee a' my ain, 
I glory in the sacred ties 

That made us ane wha ance were twain : 
A mutual flame inspires us baith. 

The tender look, the melting kiss : 
Even years shall ne'er destroy our love, 

But only gie us change o' bliss. 

Hae I a wish ? it's a' for thee ; 

I ken thy wish is me to please ; 
Our moments pass sae smooth away. 

That numbers on us look and gaze. 
Weel pleased they see our happy days. 

Nor Envy's sel find aught to blame ; 
And aye when weary cares arise. 

Thy bosom still shall be my hame. 



* This is the song " that some kind husband 
had addrest to some sweet wife," alluded to 
in the " Epistle to J. Lapraik." 

There was ae sang- amang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleased me best. 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife ; [breast, 
It thrilled the heart-strings through the 

A' to the life. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



I'll lay me there, and take my rest, 

And if that aught disturb my dear, 
I'll bid her laugh her cares away, 

And beg her not to drap a tear ; 
Hae I a joy ? it's a' her ain ; 

United still her heart and mine ; 
They're like the woodbine round the tree, 

That's twined till death shall them disjoin. 



THE HIGHLAND CHARACTER; 

OR, GAKB OF OLD GAUL. 

This tune was the composition of 
Gen. Reid, and called by him ' ' The 
Highland, or 42d Regiment's March." 
The words are by Sir Harry Erskine. 

In the garb of old Gaul, with the fire of old 
Rome, [we come, 

From the heath-cover'd mountains of Scotia 

Where the Romans endeavour'd our country 
to gain ; [in vain. 

But cur ancestors fought, and they fought not 

No effeminate customs our sinews unbrace. 
No luxurious tables enervate our race. 
Our loud-sounding pipe bears the true mar- 
tial strain. 
So do we the old Scottish valour retain. 

We're tall as the oak on the mount of the vale. 
As swift as the roe which the hound doth as- 
sail, [pear. 
As the full moon in autumn our shields do ap- 
Minerva would dread to encounter our spear. 

As a storm in the ocean when Boreas blows, 
So are we enraged when we rush on our foes ; 
We sons of the mountains, tremendous as 
rocks, [mg strokes. 

Dash the force of our foes with our thunder- 



LEADER-HAUGHS AND YARROW. 

There is in several collections the 
old song of "Leader-Haughs and Yar- 
row. " It seems to have been the work 
of one of our itinerant minstrels, as he 
calls himself, at the conclusion of his 
song, "Minstrel Burn." 

When Phoebus bright, the azure skies 

With golden rays enlight'neth. 
He makes all Nature's beauties rise, 

Herbs, trees, and flowers he quickeneth, 
Amongst all those he makes his choice. 

And with delight goes thorow. 
With radiant beams and silver streams 

O'er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

When Aries the day and night 

In equal length divideth, 
Auld frosty Saturn takes his flight, 

Nae langer he abideth ; 



Then Flora Queen, with mantle green. 

Casts afi her former sorrow. 
And vows to dwell with Ceres' sel, 

In Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

Pan playing on his aiten reed. 

And shepherds him attending, 
Do here resort their flocks to feed, 

The hills and haughs commending. 
With cur and kent upon the bent. 

Sing to the sun good-morrow. 
And swear nae fields mair pleasure yields 

Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

A house there stands on Leaderside,* 

Surmounting my descriving. 
With rooms sae rare, and windows fair, 

Like Dedalus' contriving: 
Men passing by, do aften cry. 

In sooth it hath nae marrow ; 
It stands as sweet on Leaderside, 

As Newark does on Yarrow. 

A mile below wha lists to ride. 

They'll hear the mavis singing ; 
Into St. Leonard's banks she'll bide. 

Sweet birks her head o'erhinging ; 
The lintwhite loud and Progne proud. 

With tuneful throats and narrow. 
Into St. Leonard's banks they sing, 

As sweetly as in Yarrow. 

The lapwing lilteth o'er the lee. 

With nimble wing she sporteth ; 
But vows she'll flee far frae the tree, 

Where Philomel resorteth : 
By break of day the lark can say, 

I'll bid you a good-morrow, 
I'll streek my wing, and, mounting, sing 

O'er Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

Park, Wanton-waws, and Wooden-cleugh, 

The East and Western Mainses, 
The wood of Lauder's fair enougii. 

The corn is good in Blainshes : 
Where aits are fine, and sold by kind. 

That if ye search all thorow 
Mearns, Buchan, Mar, nane better are 

Than Leader-Haughs and Yarrow. 

In Burmill Bog, and Whiteslade Shaws, 

The fearful hare she haunteth ; 
Brigh-haugh and Braidvvoodshiel she knaws. 

And Chapel-wood frequenteth ; / 

Yet when she irks, to Kaidsly birks • 

She rins and sighs for sorrow, ? 

That she should leave sweet Leader-Haughs, 

And cannot win to Yarrow! 

What sweeter music wad ye hear 

Than hounds and beagles crying? 
The startled hare rins hard with fear. 

Upon her speed relying : 
But yet her strength it fails at length, 

Nae beilding can she burrow. 
In Sorrel's field, Cleckman, or Hag's, 

And sighs to be in Yarrow. 



* Thirlstane Castle, an ancient seat of the 
Earl of Lauclerdak, 



BURNS' WORKS. 



For Rockwood, Ring^wood, Spoty, Shag, 

With sight and scent pursue her, 
Till, ah ! her pith begins to flag, 

Nae cunning can rescue her: 
O'er dub and dyke, o'er seugh and syke, 

She'll rin the fields all thorow, 
Till fail'd, she fa's in Leader-Haughs, 

And bids fareweel to Yarrow. 

Sing Erslington and Cowdenknows, 

Where Homes had ance commanding ; 
And Drygrange with the milk-white ewes, 

'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing ; 
The birds that flee throw Reedpath trees. 

And Gledswood banks ilk morrow, 
May chant and sing — Sweet Leader-Haughs, 

And bonny howms of Yarrow. 

But Minstrel Burn cannot assuage 

His grief while life endureth. 
To see the changes of this age. 

That fleeting time procureth: 
For mony a place stands in hard case. 

Where blithe fowk kend nae sorrow. 
With Homes that dwelt on Leaderside, 

And Scots that dwelt on Yarrow. 



THIS IS NO MY AIN HOUSE. 

TnE first lialf stanza is old, the rest 
is Ramsay's. The old words aie — 

Oh, this is no my ain house. 
My ain house, my ain house ; 

This is no my ain house, 
I ken by the biggin o't. 

Bread and cheese are my door-cheeks. 
My door-cheeks, my door-cheeks ; 

Bread and cheese are my door-cheeks, 
And pancakes the riggin o't. 

This is no my ain wean. 

My ain wean, my ain wean, 
This IS no my ain wean, 

I ken by the greetie o't. 

I'll tak the curchie aff my head ; 

Aff my head, aff my head ; 
I'll take the curchie aff my head. 

And row't about the feetie o't. 

The tnne is an old Highland air, 
called" Shuan truisJi willig/iaii." 



LADDIE, LIE NEAR ME. 

This song is by Dr. Blacklock. 

Hark, the loud tempest shakes the earth to 

its centre, [ture ; 

How mad were the task on a journey to ven- 

How dismal's my prospect, of life I am weary, 

Oh, listen, my love, I beseech thee to hear me. 

Hear me, hear me, in tenderness hear me ; 

All the lang winter night, laddie lie near 

me. 



Nights though protracted, though piercing 

the weather, fgether,- 

Yet summer was endless when we were to* 

Now since thy absence I feel most severely, 

Joy is extinguished and being is dreary. 

Dreary, dreary, painful and dreary ; [me. 

All the long winter night laddie lie near 



THE GABERLUNZIE MAN.* 

The Gaberlunzie Man is supposed to 
commemorate an intrigue of James V. 
Mr. Callander of Craigforth published, 
some years ago, an edition of "Christ's 
Kirk on the Green," and the " Gaber- 
lunzie Man," with notes critical and 
historical. James V. is said to have 
been fond of Gosford, in Aberlady 
parish; and that it was suspected by 
his contemporaries that, in his fre- 
quent excursions to that part of the 
country, he had other purposes in view 
besides golfing and archery. Threa 
favourite ladies — Sandilands, Weir, 
and Oliphant (one of them resided ai 
Gosford, and the others in the neigh- 
borhood) — were occasionally visited by 
their royal and gallant admirer, which 
gave rise to the following satirical 
advice to his Majesty, from Sir David 
Lindsay, of the Mount, Lord Lyon.f 

Sow not yere seed on Sandilands, 
Spend not yere strength in Weir 

And ride not on yere Oliphants, 
For gawing o' yere gear. 

The pawky auld carle came o'er the lea, 
Wi' many good e'ens and days to me. 
Saying Guidwife, for your courtesie. 

Will ye lodge a silly poor man ? 
The night was cauld, the carle was wat, 
And down aj'ont the ingle he sat ; 
My daughter's shoulders he 'gan to clap, 

And cadgily ranted and sang. 

Oh, v.'ow ! quo' he, were I as free 
As first when I saw this countrie. 
How blithe and merry wad I be ! 

And I wad never think lang. 
He grew canty, and she grew fain ; 
But little did her auld minny ken 
What thir slee twa togither were sayin'. 

When wooing they were sae thrang. 

And oh, quo' he, and ye were as black 
As e'er the crown of my daddy's hat, 
'Tis I wad lay thee on my back. 
And awa' wi' me thou should gang. 



* A wallet-man, or tinker, who appears to 
have been formerly a Jack-of-all-trades. 

t Sir Drivid was Lion King-at-Arms under 
James V. 



REMARKS ON- SCOTTISH SON"G. 



329 



And oh, quo' she, an I were as white 
As e'er the snaw lay on the dike, 
I'd deed me braw, and lady Hke 
And awa' with thee I'd gang. 

Between the twa was made a plot : 
They raise awee before the cock. 
And wilily they shot the lock. 

And fast to the bent are they gane. 
Up in the morn the auld wife raise, 
And at her leisure put on her claise ; 
Syne to the servant's bed she gaes, 

To speer for the silly poor man. 

She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay, 
The strae was cauld, he was away ! 
She clapt her hand, cried dulefu' day ! 

For some of our gear will be gane. 
Some ran to coffer, and some to kist. 
But nought was stown that could be mist, 
She danced her lane, cried. Praise be blest ! 

I have lodged a leal poor man. 

Since naething's awa', as we can learn. 

The kirn's to kirn, and milk to earn, [bairn, 

Gae but the house, lass, and wauken my 

And bid her come quickly ben. 
The servant gaed where the daughter lay. 
The sheets were cauld, she was away. 
And fast to her guidwife did say, 

She's aff with the Gaberlunzie man. 

Oh, fy ! gar ride, and fy ! gar rin, 
And haste ye find these traitors again ; 
For she's be burnt, and he's be slain. 

The wearifu' Gaberlunzie man! 
Some rade upo' horse, some ran a-foot. 
The wife was wud, and out o' her wit. 
She could na gang, nor yet could she sit, 

But aye did curse and did ban. 

Meantime far hind out o'er the lea, 

Fu' snug in a glen where nane could see. 

The twa, with kindly sport and glee, 

Cut frae a new cheese a whang. 
The priving was good, it pleased them baith ; 
To lo'e for aye he gae her his aith ; 
Quo' she, to leave thee I will be laith. 

My- winsome Gaberlunzie man. 

Oh, kenn'd my minnie I were wi' you, 
[ll-fardly wad she crook her mou. 
Sic a poor man she'd never trow. 

After the Gaberlunzie man. 
My dear, quo' he, ye'er yet o'er young, 
And hae nae learned the beggar's tongue, 
To follow me frae town to town. 

And carry the Gaberlunzie on. 

Wi' cauk and keel I'll win your bread. 

And spindles and whorles for them whaneed, 

Whilk is a gentle trade indeed, 

To carry the Gaberlunzie on. 
I'll bow my leg, and crook my knee. 
And draw a black clout o'er my ee ; 
A cripple, or blind, they will ca' me. 

While we shall be merry and sing. 



THE BLACK EAGLE. 
- This song is by Dr. Fordyce, whose 
merits as a prose writer are well 
known. 



Hark I yonder eagle lonely wails ; 
His faithful bosom grief assails ; 
Last night I heard him in my dream. 
When death and woe were all the theme. 
Like that poor bird I make my moan, 
I grieve for dearest Delia gone ; 
With him to gloomy rocks I fly. 
He mourns for love, and so do I. 

'Twas mighty love that tamed his breast, 
'Tis tender grief that breaks his rest ; 
He droops his wings, he hangs his head. 
Since she he fondly loved was dead. 
With Delia's breath my joy expired, 
'Twas Delia's smiles my fancy fired ; 
Like that poor bird, I pine, and prove 
Nought can supply the place of love. 

Dark as his feathers was the fate 
That robbed him of his darling mate; 
Dimm'd is the lustre of his eye. 
That wont to gaze the sun-bright sky. 
To him is now forever lost 
The heartfelt bliss he once could boast ; 
Thy sorrows, hapless bird, display 
An image of my soul's dismay. 



JOHNNIE COPE. 

This satirical song was composed to 
commemorate General Cope's defeat at 
Prestonpans in 1745, when lie marched 
against the Clans. 

The air was the tune of an old song 
of which I have heard some verses, btit 
now only remember the title, which 
was, 

" Will ye go to the coals in the morning ?" 

Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar — 
Charlie, meet me, and ye daur. 
And I'll learn you the art of war, 
If you'll meet me i' the morning. 



Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye v/aking yet? 
Or are your drums a-beating yet ? 
If ye were waking I would wait 
To gang to the coals i' the morning. 

When Charlie looked the letter upon. 
He drew his sword the scabbard from, 
Come follow me, my merry, merry men, 
To meet Johnnie Cope i' the morning. 

Now, Johnnie Cope, be as good as your wor 
And try our fate wi' fire and sword. 
And dinnatak wing like a frighten'd bird. 
That's chased frae its nest i' the morning. 

When Johnnie Cope he heard of this. 
He thought it wadna be amiss 
To hae a horse in readiness 
To flee awa i' the morning. 

Fy, Johnnie, now get up and rin. 
The Highland bagpipes make a dia, 



830 



BTTRNS' WORKS. 



It's best to sleep in a hale skin, 
For 'twill be a bluidy morning. 

Yon's no the tuck o' England's drum. 
But it's the war-pipes deadly strum : 
And poues the claymore and the gun — 
It will be a bluidy morning. 

When Johnnie Cope to Dunbar came, 
They speir'd at him, " Where's a' your men ?'' 
" The dell confound me gin I ken, 
For I left them a' i' the morning." 

Now, Johnnie, trouth ye was na blate, 
To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat, 
And leave your men in sic a strait, 
Sae early i' the morning. 

Ah ! faith, quo' Johnnie, I got a fleg. 
With theirclaymoresand philabeg : 
If I face them again, deil break my leg, 
Sae I wish you a good morning. 

Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye waking yet ? 
Or are your drums a-beating yet ? 
If ye were waking I would wait 
To gang to the coals i' the morning. 



CEASE, CEASE, MY DEAR FRIEND, 
TO EXPLORE. 

The song is by Dr. Blackloek; I 
believe, but I am not quite certain, 
that the air is his too. 

Cease, cease my dear friend to explore 

From whence and how piercing my smart ; 
Let the charms of the nymph I adore 

Excuse and interpret my heart. 
Then how much I admire ye shall prove. 

When like me ye are taught to admire. 
And imagine how boundless my love. 

When you number the charms that inspire. 

Than sunshine more dear to my sight. 

To my life more essential than air, 
To my soul she is perfect delight, 

To my sense all that's pleasing and fair. 
The swains who her beauty behold, 

With transport applaud every charm. 
And swear that the breast must be cold 

Which a beam so intense cannot warm. 

Does my boldness ofiEend my dear maid ? 

Is my fondness loquacious and free ? 
Are my visits too frequently paid ? 

Or my converse unworthy of thee ? 
Yet when grief was too big for my breast, 

And labour'd in sighs to complain, 
Its struggles I oft have supprest. 

And silence imposed on my pain. 

Ah, Strephon, how vain thy desire. 
Thy numbers and music how vain, 

While merit and fortune conspire 
The smiles of the nymph tu obtain. 



Yet cease to upbraid the soft choice. 
Though it ne'er should determine for thee; 

If my heart in her joy may rejoice. 
Unhappy thou never canst be. 



AULD ROBIN GRAY. 

This air was formerly called " Tlie 
Bridegroom Greets when the Sun 
Gangs Down." The words are by 
Lady Ann Lindsay, of the Balcarras 
family. 

When the sheep are in the fauld, and a' the 

kye at hame, 
And a' the weary warld to sleep are gane : 
The waes of my heart fa' in showers frae my 

ee. 
When my guidman sleeps sound by me. 

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and he sought 
me for his bride, [side ; 

But saving a crown he had naethingelse be- 
To make that crown a pound, my Jamie gaed 
to sea, [me. 

And the crown and the pound were baith for 

He hadna been gane a year and a day. 
When my father brak his arm, and my Jamie 
at the sea, [stownavvay; 

My mither she fell sick, and our cow was 
And auld Robin Gray came a courting to ms. 

My father couldna work, and my mirher 
couldna spin, [na win ; 

I toil'dday and night, but their bread I couid- 

Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' teara 
in his ee, 

Said, " Jenny, yor their sakes, oh, marry me." 

My heart it said nae, for I look'd for Jamia 
back, [a wrack ; 

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was 
The ship it was a wrack, why didna Jenny 
And why dcr I live to say, Wae's me ? [die, 

My father argued sair, though rhy mither did- 
na speak, [break ; 

She lookit in my face till mj' heart was like to 

Sae they gied him my hand, though my heart 
viras in the sea. 

And auld Robin Gray is a guid man to me. 

I hadna been a wife a week but only four. 
When, sitting sae mournfully at the door, 
I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think 
it he, [thee." 

Till he said, "I'm come back for to marry 

Oh, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say, 
We tool: but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves 

away : 
I wish I were dead ! but I'm no like to die. 
And why do I live to say, Wae's me ! 

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin, 
I darena think on Jamie, for that wad be a 
But I'll do my best a guid wife to be, [sin; 
For auld Robin Gray is kmd unto me. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH. SONG. 



331 



DONALD AND FLORA.* 

This is one of those fine Gaelic tunes 
preserved from time immemorial in 
the Hebrides; they seem to be the 
groundwork of many of our finest 
Scots pastoral tunes. The words of 
this song were written to commemorate 
the unfortunate expedition of General 
Burgoyne in America, in 1777. 

When merry hearts were gay, 
Careless of aught but play, 
Poor Flora slipt away, 

Sad'ning to Mora ;t 
Loose flow'd her coal black hair, 
Quick heaved her bosom bare, 
As thus to the troubled air 

She vented her sorrow : — 

" Loud howls the northern blast, 
Bleak is the dreary waste ; 
Haste thee, O Donald, haste. 

Baste to thy Flora ! 
Twice twelve long months are o'er, 
Since, on a foreign shore, 
You promised to fight no more. 

But meet me in Mora. 

" ' Where now is Donald dear ?' 
Maids cry with taunting sneer ; 
'Say is he still sincere 

To his loved Flora ?' 
Parents upbraid my moan, 
Each heart is turned to stone ; 
Ah ! Flora, thou'rt now alone. 

Friendless in Mora ! 

" Come, then, oh come away ! 
Donald, no longer stay ; — 
Where can my rover stray 

From his loved Flora ? 
Ah ! sure he ne'er can be 
False to his vows and me — 
Oh, Heaven ! is not yonder he 

Bounding o'er Mora?" 

" Never, ah ! wretched fair ! 
(Sigh'd the sad messenger,) 
Never shall Donald mair 

Meet his loved Flora ! 
Cold, cold beyond the main, 
Donald, thy love lies slain : 
He sent me to soothe thy pain. 

Weeping in Mora. 



* "This fine ballad," saj^s Cunningham, "is 
the composition of Hector Macneil, Esq.. au- 
thor of the celebrated poem, ' Will and Jean,' 
and other popular works. Hector Macneil 
was looked up to as Scotland's hope in song 
when Burns died ; his poems flew over the 
north like wildfire, and half a dozen editions 
were bought up in a year. The Donald of the 
song was Captain Stewart, who fell at the 
battle of Saratoga, and Flora was a young 
lady of Athole, to whom he was betrothed." 

+ A small valley in Athole, so named by the 
two lovers. 



" Well fought our gallant men, 
Headed by brave Burgoyne, 
Our heroes were thrice led on 

To British glory. 
But, ah ! though our foes did flee, 
Sad was the loss to thee. 
While every fresh victory 

Drown'd us in sorrow. 

" ' Here, take this trusty blade, 
(Donald e.xpiring said) 
Give it to yon dear maid, 

Weeping in Mora. 
Tell her, O Allan ! tell, 
Donald thus bravely fell. 
And that in his last farewell 

He thought on his Flora.' " 

Mute stood the trembling fair. 
Speechless with wild despair. 
Then, striking her bosom bare, 

Sigh'd out, " Poor Flora!" 
O Donald ! oh, well a day ! 
Was all the fond heart could say ; 
At length the sound died away 

Feebly, in Mora. 



THE CAPTIVE RIBBAND. 

This air is called " Robie donna 
Gorach." 

Dear Myra, the captive ribband's mine, 
'Twas all my faithful love could gain ; 

And would you ask me to resign 
The sole reward that crowns my pain ? 

Go, bid the hero who has run 

Through fields of death to gather fame. 
Go, bid him lay his laurels down. 

And all his well-earn'd praise disclaim. 

The ribband shall its freedom lose. 
Lose all the bliss it had with you. 

And share the fate I would impose 
On thee, wert thou my captive too. 

It shall upon my bosom live. 
Or clasp me in a close embrace : 

And at its fortune if you grieve, 
Retrive its doom and take its place. 



THE BRIDAL O'T. 

This song is the work of a Mr. Alex- 
ander Ross, late schoolmaster at Loch 
lee, and author of a beautiful Scots 
poem called " The Fortunate Shep- 
herdess." 

They say that Jockey'll speed well o't. 

They say that Jockey'll speed weel o't 
For he grows brawer ilka day — 

I hope we'll hae a bridal o't : 
For yesternight, nae farder gane. 

The backhouse at the side wa' o't. 
He there wi' Meg was mirden seen— 

1 hope we'll hae a bridal o't. 



833 



BURNS' WORKS. 



An we had but a bridal o't, 

An we had but a bridal o't, 
We'd leave the rest unto guid luck, 

Although there should betide ill o't; 
For bridal days are merry times, 

And young folks like the comin' o't. 
And scribblers they bang upi their rhymes, 

And pipers hae the bumming o't. 

The lasses like a bridal o't. 

The lasses like a bridal o't. 
Their braws maun be in rank and file. 

Although that they should guide ill o't : 
The bottom o' the kist is then 

Turn'd up unto the inmost o't. 
The end that held the kecks sae clean, 

Is now become the teemest o't. 

The bangster at the threshing o't. 

The bangster at the threshmg o't, 
Afore it comes is fidgin fain, 

And ilka day's a clashing o't : 
He'll sell his jerkin for a groat. 

His linder for anither o t, 
And e'er he want to clear his shot, 

His sark'll pay the tither o't. 

The pipers and the fiddlers o't. 

The pipers and the fiddlers o't, 
Can smell a bridal unco far, 

And like to be the meddlers o't ; 
Fan* thick and threefold they convene, 

Ilk ane envies the tither o't. 
And wishes nane but him alane 

May ever see anither o't. 

Fan they hae done wi' eating o't. 

Fan they hae done wi' eating o't. 
For dancing they gae to the green. 

And aiblins to the beating o't : 
He dances best that dances fast. 

And loups at ilka reesing o't, 
And claps his hands frae hough to hough, 

And furls about the feezings o't. 



TODLEN HAME. 

This is perhaps the first bottle song 
that ever was composed. The author's 
name is unknown. 

When I've a saxpence under my thumb, 

Then I'll get credit in ilka town : 

But aye when I'm poor they bid me gae by ; 

Oh, poverty parts good company. 
Todlen hame, todlen hame, 
Coudna my love come todlen hame ? 

Fair fa' the good wife, and send her good sale. 
She gies us white bannocks to drink her ale, 
Syne if her tippeny chance to be sma'. 
We'll tak a good scour o't, and ca't awa'. 
Todlen hame, todlen hame. 
As round as a neep come todlen hame. 



* Fan, when— the dialect of Angus. 



My kimmer and I lay down to sleep, 
And twa pint-stoups at our bed-feet ; [dry, 
And aye when we waken'd, we drank thein 
What think ye of my wee kimmer and I ? 

Todlen but, and todlen ben, 

Sae round as my love comes todlen hame. 

Leeze me on liquor, my todlen dow, 

Ye're aye sae good humour'd when weeting 

your mou ; 
When sober sae sour, ye'U fight wi' a flee. 
That 'tis a blithe sight to the bairns and me. 

When todlen hame, todlen hame, [hame. 

When round as a neep ye come todlen 



THE SHEPHERD'S PREFERENCE. 

This song is Dr. Blacklock's. — I dont 
know how it came by the name; bui; 
the oldest appellation of the air was, 
•'Whistle and I'll come to you, my 
lad." 

It has little affinity to the tune com- 
monly known by that name. 

In May, when the daisies appear on the green. 
And flowers in the field and the forest are 
seen ; [sprung, 

V/here lilies bloom'd bonny, and hawthorns up 
A pensive young shepherd oft whistled and 
sung; [flowers. 

But neither the shades nor the sweets of the 
Nor the blackbirds that warbled in blossom- 
ing bowers. 
Could brighten his eye or his ear entertain, 
For love was his pleasure, and love was h.s 
pain. 

The shepherd thus sung, while his flocks all 

around [sound ; 

Drew nearer and nearer, and sigh'd to the 
Around, as in chains, lay the beasts of the 

wood. 
With pity disarm'd and with music subdued. 
Young Jessy is fair as the spring's early 

flower, [bower ; 

And Mary sings sweet as the bird in her 
But Peggy is fairer and sweeter than they, 
With looks like the morning, with smiles like 

the day. 



JOHN 0' BADENYON. 

This excellent song is the composi- 
tion of my worthy friend, old Skinner, 
at Linshart. 

When first I cam to be a man, 

Of twenty years or so, 
I thought myself a handsome youth, 

And fain the world would know : 
In best attire I stept abroad, 

With spirits brisk and gay, 
And here and there, and everywhere, 

Was like a morn in May. 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



333 



No care had I, nor fear of want, 

But rambled up and down, 
And for a beau I might have pass'd 

In country or in town ; 
I still was pleased where'er I went, 

And when I was alone, 
I tuned my pipe and pleased myself 

Wi' John o' Badenyon. 

Now in the days of youthful prime, 

A mistress I must find, 
For love^ they say, gives one an air, 

And even improves the mind : 
On Phillis, fair above the rest, 

Kind fortune fixed my eyes ; 
Her piercing beauty struck my heart. 

And she became my choice : 
To Cupid, then, with hearty prayer, 

X offered many a vow ; [swore, 

And danced, and sung, and sigh'd, and 

As other lovers do : 
But, when at last I breathed my flame, 

I found her cold as stone : 
I left the jilt, and tuoned my pipe 

To John o' Badenyon. 

When love had thus my heart beguiled 

With foolish hopes and vain ; 
To friendship's port I steered my course, 

And laugh'd at lover's pain : 
A friend I got by lucky chance, 

'Twas something like divine 
An honest friend's a precious gift. 

And such a gift was mine : 
And now, whatever might betide, 

A happy man was I, 
In any strait I knew to whom 

1 freely might apply : 
A strait soon came, my friend I tried ; 

He heard, and spurn'd my moan ; 
I hied me home, and pleased mysell, 

With John o' Badenyon. 

I thought I should be wiser next. 

And would s. patriot turn. 
Began to dote on Johnny Wilkes, 

And cry up Parson Home. 
Their manly spirit I admired. 

And praised their noble zeal. 
Who had with flaming tongue and pen 

Maintain'd the public weal ; 
But ere a month or two had past, 

I found myself betray'd, 
'Twas sel/^xiA party after all. 

For all the stir they made ; 
At last I saw these factious knaves 

Insult the very throne, 
I cursed them a , and tuned my pipe 

To John o' Badenyon. 

And now, ye youngsters everywhere. 

Who want to make a show, 
Take heed in time, nor vainly hope. 

For happiness below ; 
What you may fancy pleasure here 

Is but an empty name. 
For girls, and friends, and books, and so, 

You'll find them all the same. 
Then be advised, and warning take 

From such a man as me, 
I'm neither Pope, nor Cardinal, 

Nor one of high degree : 



You'll find displeasure everywhere ; 

Then do as I have done. 
E'en tune your pipe, and please j'ourself 

With John o' Badenyon. 



A WAUKRIFE MINNIE.* 

I PICKED up this old song and tune 
from a country girl in Nithsdale. — I 
never met witli it elsewhere in Scot' 
land : — 

Whare are you gaun, my bonny lass ? 

Whare are you gaun, my hinnie .> 
She answer'd me right saucilie — 

An errand for my minnie. 

Oh, whare live ye, my bonny lass? 

Oh, whare live ye, my hinnie ? — 
By yon burn-side, gin ye maun ken, 

In a wee house wi' my minnie. 

But I foor up the glen at e'en 

To see my bonny lassie ; 
And lang before the gray morn cata 

She wasna half sae saucie. 

Oh, weary fa' the waukrife cock, 
And the foumart lay his crawin ! 

He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep 
A wee blink o' the dav/in. 

An angry wife I wat she raise. 
And o'er the bed she brought her, 

And wi' a mickle hazle rung 
She made her a weel-pay'd dochter. 

Oh, fare thee weel, my bonny lass ! 

Oh, fare thee weel, my hinnie ! 
Thou art a gay and a bonny lass, 

But thou hast a waukrife minnie. 

The editor thinks it respectful to the 
poet to preserve the verses he thus re- 
covered. — R. B. 



TULLOCHGORUM. 

This first of songs is the master- 
piece of my old friend Skinner. He 
was passing the day. at the town of 
Cullen. I think it was [he should 
have said Elo)%\ in a friend's house, 
whose name was Montgomery. Mrs. 
Montgomery observing, en passant, 
that the beautiful reel of TullocJigonim 
wanted words, she begged them of Mr. 
Skinner, who gratified her wishes, and 
the wishes of every lover of Scotch 
sonar, in this most excellent ballad. 



* A watchful mother. 



834 



BUIIJSS' WORKS. 



These particulars I had from the 
author's son, Bishop Skinuer, at Aber- 
deen. 

Come, gie's a sang, Montgomery cried, 
And lay your disputes all aside ; 
What signifies't for folks to chide 

For what was done before them ? 
Let Whig and Tory all agree. 

Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory, 
Whig and Tory all agree. 

To drop their Whig-mig-morum. 
Let Whig and Tory all agree 
To spend the night in mirth and glee^ 
And cheerful sing alang wi' me 

The Reel o' TuUochgorum. 

Oh, TuUochgorum's my delight, 
It gars us a' in ane unite. 
And ony sumph that keeps up spite, 
In consoience I abhor him : 
For bhthe and cheerie we'll be a'. 

Blithe and cheerie, blithe and cheerie. 
Blithe and cheerie we'll be a' 
And make a happy quorum : 
For blithe and cheerie we'll be a'. 
As lang as we hae breath to draw. 
And dance, till we be like to fa'. 

The Reel o' TuUochgorum. 

What needs there be sae great a fraise 
Wi' dringing dull Italian lays? 
I wadna gie our ain Strathspeys 

For half a hunder score o' 'em. 
They're dowf and dowie at the best, 
Dowf and dowie, dowf and dowie, 
Dowf and dowie at the best, 
Wi' a' their variorum ; 
They're dowf and dowie at the best. 
Their allegros and a' the rest ; 
They canna please a Scottish taste. 

Compared wi' TuUochgorum. 

Let warldly worms their minds oppress 
Wi' fears o' want and double cess. 
And sullen sots themsels distress 

Wi' keeping up decorum : 
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit. 
Sour and sulky, sour and sulky, 
Sour and sulky shaU we sit. 

Like old philosophorum? 
Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, 
Wi' neither sense, nor mirth, nor wit. 
Nor ever try to shake a fit 

To the Reel o' TuUochgorum ? 

May choicest blessings e'er attend 
Each honest, open-hearted friend, 
And calm and quiet be his end. 

And all that's good watch o'er him ! 
May peace and plenty be his lot. 

Peace and plenty, peace and plenty, 
Peace and plenty be his lot. 

And daintits a great store o' 'em; 
May peace and plenty be his lot, 
Unstain'd by any vicious spot. 
And may he never want a groat. 

That's fond o' TuUochgorum ! 

But for the sullen frampish fool 
That love's to be oppression's tool, 



May envy gnaw his rotten soul. 

And discontent devour him ! 
May dool and sorrow be his chance 
Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow, 
Dool and sorrow be his chance, 

And nane say, Wae's me for him ! 
May dool and sorrow be his chance, 
Wi' a' the ills that come f rae France, 
Whae'er he be that winnadance 

The Reel o' TuUochgorum ! 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

Ramsay here, as is usual with him, 
has taken the idea of the song, and tha 
first line, from the old fragment, 
which may be seen in the Museum, 
vol. V. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 

And never thought upon. 
The flames of love extinguish'd, 

And freely past and gone ? 
Is thy kind heart now grown so cold, 

In that loving breast of thine. 
That thou canst never once reflect 

On auld lang syne ! 

If e'er I have a house, my dear, 

That truly is call'd mine, 
And can afford but country cheer. 

Or aught that's good therein ; 
Though thou wert rebel to the king, 

And beat with wind and rain, 
Assure thyself of welcome love. 

For auld lang syne. 



THE EWIE Wr THE CROOKED 
HORN. 

Another excellent song of old Skin- 
ner's.' 

Oh, were I able to rehearse, 

My ewie's praise in proper verse, 

I'd sound it out as loud and fierce 

As ever piper's drone could blaw. 
The ewie wi' the crookit horn 
Weel deserved baith garse and corn ; 
Sic a ewie ne'er was born 

Hereabout, nor far awa'. 
Sic a' ewie ne'er was born 

Hereabout, nor far awa'. 

I never needed tar norkeil 
To mark her upo' hip or heel, 
Her crookit horn did just as weel 

To ken her by amo' them a' ; 
She never threaten'd scab nor rot, 
But keepit aye her ain jog trot, 
Baith to the fauld and to the cot. 

Was never sweir to lead nor ca'. 
Baith to the fauld and to the cot. 

Was never sweir to lead nor ca'. 



REMARKS O:^ SCOTTISH SON-Q. 



835 



Cauld nor hunger never dang her. 
Wind nor rain could never wrang her ; 
Ance she lay an ouk, and langer, 

Out aneath a vvrreath o' snaw ; 
Whan itherewies lap the dyke, 
And ate the kail for a' the tyke, 
My ewie never play'd the like, 

But tyc'd about the barnyard wa' ; 
My ewie never play'd the like, 

But tyc'd about the barnyard wa', 

A better nor a thriftier beast 

Nae honest man could weel hae wist, 

Puir silly thing, she never mist 

To hae ilk year a lamb or twa. 
The first she had I gae to Jock, 
To be to him a kind of stock. 
And now the laddie has a flock 

Of mair nor thirty head to ca'. 
And now th« laddie has a flock 

Of mair than thirty head to ca'. 

The neist I gae to Jean ; and now 
The bairn's sae braw, has fauld sae fu'. 
That lads sae thick come her to woo. 

They're fain to sleep on hay or straw. 
I lookit aye at even' for her, 
For fear the foumart might devour her. 
Or some mischanter had come o'er her. 

Gin the beastie bade awa'. 
Or some mischanter had come o'er her. 

Gin the beastie bade awa'. 

Yet last ouk, for a' my keeping, 
(Wha can speak it v;ithout weeping ?) 
A villain cam when I was sleeping. 

And sta' my ewie, horn and a' ; 
I sought her sair upo' the morn. 
And down aneath a buss o' thorn, 
I got my ewie's crookit horn. 

But ah, my ewie was awa' ! 
I got my ewie s crookit horn. 

But ah, my ewie was awa'. 

Oh ! gin I had the loun that did it. 
Sworn I have as weel as said it, 
Though a' the world should forbid it, 

I wad gie his neck a thra' : 
I never met wi' sic a turn 

As this sin' ever I was born. 
My ewie wi' the crookit horn, 

Puir silly ewie, stown awa' ! 
My ewie wi' the crookit horn, 

Puir sillie ewie, stown aw^a*. 



HUGHIE GRAHAM. 

There are several editions of this 
ballad. — This here inserted is from 
Dial tradition in Ayrshire, where, 
when I was a boy, it was a popular 
song. — It originally had a simple old 
tune, which I have forgotten. 

Our Lords are to the mountains gane, 

A hunting o' the fallow deer, 
And they have grippet Hughie Graham, 

For stealing o' the bishop's mare. 



And they hae tied him hand and foot. 
And led him up through Stirling toun ; 

The lads and lassies met him there. 
Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loon. 

Oh, lowse my right hand free, he says, 
And put my braid sword in the same. 

He's no in Stirling toun this day 
Daur tell the tale to Hughie Graham. 

Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, 

As he sat by the bishop's knee. 
Five hundred white stots I'll gie you. 

If ye'U let Hughie Graham gae free. 

Oh, haud your tongue, the bishop says. 
And wi' your pleading let me be ; 

For though ten Grahams were in his coat,' 
Hughie Graham this day shall die. 

Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, 
As she sat by the bishop's knee ; 

Five hundred white pence I'll gie you, 
If ye'll gie Hughie Graham to me. 

Oh, haud your tongue now, lady fair. 
And wi' your pleading let it be ; 

Although ten Grahams were in his coat. 
It's for my honour he maun die. 

They've taen him to the gallows knowe, 

He looked to the gallows tree. 
Yet never colour left his cheek, 

Nor ever did he blink his ee. 

At length he looked round about. 

To see whatever he could spy : 
And there he saw his auld father. 

And he was weeping bitterly. 

Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear. 
And wi' your weeping let it be ; 

Thy weeping's sairer on my heart 
Than a' that they can do to me. 

And ye may gie my brother John 
My sword that's bent in the middle clear; 

And'let hira come at twelve o'clock. 
And see me pay the bishop's mare. 

And ye may gie ray brother James 

My sword thats bent in the middle brown; 

And bid him come at four o'clock, 
And see his brother Hugh cut down. 

Remember me to Maggy, my wife. 
The neist time ye gang o'er the moor ; 

Tell her she staw the bishop's mare, 
Tell her she was the bishop's whore. 

And ye may tell my kith and kin 
I never did disgrace their blood ; 

And when they meet the bishop's cloak 
To mak it shorter by the hood. 



A SOUTHLAND JENNY. 

This is a popular Ayrshire song, 
though the notes were never taken 
down before. It, as well as many of 



sm 



BURNS' WORKS. 



tlie ballad tunes in tliis collection, was 
written from Mrs. Burns' voice. 

The following verse of this strain will suf- 
fice : — 

A Southland Jenny that was right bonny, 
She had for a suitor a Norlan' Johnnie ; 
But he was siccan a bashfu' wooer 
That he could scarcely speak unto her. [ler, 
But blinks o' her beauty and hopes o' her sil- 
Forced him at last to tell his mind till 'er ; 
My dear, quo' he, we'll nae longer tarry. 
Gin ye can love me, let's o'er the muir and 
marry. 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

This tune is claimed by Nathaniel 
Gow. It is notoriously taken from 
" The Muckin' o' Geordie's Byre." It 
is also to be found, long prior to Na- 
thaniel Gow's era, in Aird's " Selec- 
tion of Airs and Marches," the first 
edition under the name of " The High- 
way to Edinburgh. " 



THEN, GUIDWIFE, COUNT THE 
LAWIN'. 

The chorus of this is part of an old 
song, one stanza of which I recollect : — 

Every day my wife tells me 
That ale and brandy will ruin me ; 
But if guid liquor be my dead, 
This shall be written on my head — 
Oh, guidwife, count the lawin'. 



THE SOGER LADDIE. 

The first verse of this is old; the 
rest is by Ramsay. The tune seems 
to be the same with a slow air called 
" Jacky Hume's Lament," or " The 
Hollin Buss," or " Ken ye what Mego' 
the Mill has gotten!" 

Mv soger laddie is over the sea, 

And he'll bring gold and silver to me, 

And when he comes hame he will make me 

his lady ; 
My blessings gang wi' him, my soger laddie. 

My doughty laddie is handsome and brave. 
And can as a soger and lover behave ; 
He's true to his country, to love he is steady — 
There's few to compare wi' my soger laddie. 



Oh, shield him, ye angels, frae death in alarms, 
Return him with laurels to my longing arms, 
Syne frae all my care ye'll pleasantly free me, 
When back to my wishes my soger ye gie me. 

Oh, soon may his honours bloom fair on hif 

brow, 
As quickly they must, if he get but his due ; 
For in noble actions his courage is ready. 
Which makes me delight in my soger laddie. 



WHERE WAD BONNY ANNIE 

LIE? 
The old name of the tune is, — 

Whare'll our guidman lie ? 
A silly old stanza of it runs thus— 

Oh, whare'll our guidman lie, 

Guidman lie, guidman lie. 
Oh, whare'll our guidman lie, 

Till he shute o'er the simmer ? 

Up amang the hen-bawks. 
The hen-bawks, the hen-bawks, 

Up amang the hen-bawks. 
Among the rotten timmer. 

Ramsay's song is as follows : — 

Oh, where wad bonny Annie lie? 
Alane nae mair ye maunna lie ; 
Wad ye a guidman try. 

Is that the thing ye're lacking ? 
Oh, can a lass sae young as I 
Venture on the bridal tye? 
Syne down wi' a guidman lie ? 
I'm fley'd he'd keep me waukin. 

Never judge until ye try ; 
Mak me your guidman, I 
Shanna hinder you to lie 

And sleep till ye be weary. 
What if I should wauking lie. 
When the ho-boys are gaun by, 

Will ye tent me when I cry. 
My dear, I'm faint and eerie ? 

In my bosom thou shalt lie. 
When thou waukrife art, or dry. 
Healthy cordial standing by 

Shall presently revive thee. 
To your will I then comply ; 
Join us, priest, and let me tiy. 
How I'll wi' a guidman lie, 

Wha can a cordial gie me. 



GALLOWAY TAM. 

I have seen an interlude (acted on 
a wedding) to this tune, called " The 
Wooing of the Maiden." These en- 
tertainments are now much worn out 
in this part of Scotland. Two are still 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



337 



retained in Nitlisdale, viz., " Silly 
Puir Auld Glenae," and this one, "The 
Wooing of the Maiden. " 

Oh, Galloway Tam cam here to woo. 
We'd better hae gien him the bawsent cow. 
For our lass Bess may curse and ban 
The wanton wit o' Galloway Tam. 
A cannie tongue and a glance fu' gleg, 
A buirdly back and a lordly leg, 
A heart like a fox and a look like a lamb — • 
Oh, these are the marks o' Galloway Tam. 

Oh, Galloway Tam came here to shear, 
We'd better hae gien him the guid gray 

meare, [guidman, 

Ht kiss'd the gudewife and he dang'd the 
And these are the tricks o' Galloway Tam. 
He owed the kirk a twalmonth's score, 
And he doff'd his bonnet at the door ; 
The loon cried out wha sung the psalm, 
" There's room on the stool for Galloway 

Tam !" 

Ye lasses o' Galloway, frank and fair, 
Tak tent o' yer hearts and something mair ; 
And bar your doors, your windows steek. 
For he comes stealing like night and sleep : 
Oh, nought frae Tam but wae ye'll win. 
He'll sing ye dumb and he'll dance ye blin' ; 
And aff your balance he'll cowp ye then — 
Tak tent o' the deil and Gallov/ay Tam. 

"Sir," quoth Mess John, " the wanton deil 

Has put his birn 'boon gospel kiel, 

And bound yere cloots in his black ban' :" 

'■ For mercy loos't !" quo' Galloway Tam. 

" In our kirk-fauld we maun ye bar. 

And smear your fleece wi' covenant tar, 

And pettle ye up a dainty lamb," — 

*' Among the yowes," quo' Galloway Tam. 

Eased of a twalmonth's graceless deeds. 

He gaylie doff'd his sackloth weeds. 

And 'mang the maidens he laughing cam' — 

" Tak tent o' your hearts " quo' Galloway 

A cannie tongue and a glance fu' gleg, [Tam. 

A buirdly back and a lordly leg, 

A heart like a fox, and a look like a lamb — 

Oh, these are the marks o' Galloway Tam. 



AS I CAM DOWN BY YON 
CASTLE WA'. 

Tnis is a very popular Ayrshire 
song. 

As I cam down by yon castle wa', 

And in by yon garden green. 
Oh, there I spied a bonny bonny lass. 

But the flower-borders were us between. 

A bonny, bonny lassie she was. 

As ever mine eyes did see ; 
Oh, five hundred pounds would I give 

For to have such a pretty bride as thee. 

To have such a pretty bride as me. 
Young man ye are sairly mista'en ; 



Though ye were king o' fair Scotland, 
1 wad disdain to be your queen. 

Talk not so very high, bonny lass, 
Oh, talk not so very, very high : 

The man at the fair, that wad sell. 
He maun learn at the man that wad buy. 

I trust to climb a far higher tree, 

And herry a far richer nest. 
Tak this advice o' me, bonny lass, 

Humility wad set thee best. 



LORD RONALD, MY SON. 
This air, a very favourite one in 
Ayrshire, is evidently the original of 
Lochaber. In this manner most of our 
finest more modern airs have had their 
origin. Some early minstrel, or musi- 
cal shepherd, composed the simple art- 
less original airs; which being picked 
up by the more learned musician took 
the improved form they bear. 



O'ER THE MOOR AMANG THE 
HEATHER. 

This song is the composition of Jean 
Glover, a girl who was not only a 
whore but also a thief, and in one or 
other character has visited most of the 
correction houses in the West. She 
was born, I believe, in Kilmarnock. — • 
I took the song down, from her sing- 
ing, as she was strolling through the 
country with a sleight-of-hand black- 
gttard. 

Comin' through the craigs o' Kyle, 
Amang the bonny blooming heather, 
There I met a bonny lassie. 
Keeping a' her yowes thegither. 

O'er the moor amang the heather. 
O'er the moor amang the heather, 
There I met a bonny lassie. 
Keeping a' her yowes thegither. 

Says I, my dearie, where is thy hame. 
In moor or dale, pray tell me whether ? 
She says, I tent the neecy flocks 
That feed amang the blooming heather. 

We laid us down upon a bank, 
Sae warm and sunny was the weather, 
She left her flocks at large to rove 
Amang the bonny blooming heather. 

While thus we lay she sang' a sang, 
Till echo rang a mile and farther, 
And aye the burden o' the sang 
Was o'er the moor amang the heathfci. 



er.s 



BURNS' WORKS. 



She charm 'd my heart, and aye sinsyne, 
I couldna think on ony ither ; 
By sea and sky she shall be mine ! 
The bonny lass amang the heather. 



TO THE ROSEBUD. 

This song is tlie composition of one 
Johnson, a joiner in tiie neighborhood 
of Belfast. The tune is by Oswald, 
altered, evidently, from "Jockie's 
Gray Breeks." 

All hail to thee, thou bawmy bud. 
Thou charming child o' simmer, hail ; 
lik fragrant thorn and lofty wood 
Does nod thy welcome to the vale. 

See on thy lovely faulded form, 
Glad Phoebus smiles wi' cheering eye, 
While on thy head the dewy morn 
Has shed the tears o' silent joy> 

The tuneful tribes frae yonder bower 
"Wi' sangs o' joy thy presence hail : 
Then haste, thou bawmy, fragrant flower, 
And gie thy bosom to the gale. 

And see the fair, industrious bee. 
With airy wheel and soothing hum. 
Flies ceaseless round thy parent tree. 
While gentle breezes, trembling, come. 

If ruthless Liza pass this way. 
She'll pu' thee frae thy thorny stem • 
A while thou'lt grace her virgin breast. 
But soon thou'lt fade, my bonny gem. 

Ah! short, too short, thy rural reign, 
And yield to fate, alas ! thou must , 
Bright emblem of the virgin train. 
Thou blooms, alas ! to mix wi' dust. 

Sae bonny Liza hence may learn, 
Wi' every youthfu' maiden gay. 
That beauty, like the simmer's rose. 
In time shall wither and decay. 



THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER 
FALL. 

This song of genius was composed 
by a Miss Cranstoun.* It wanted four 
lines to make all the stanzas suit the 
music, which I added, and are the 
first four of the last stanza. 



* She was the sister of George Cranstoun, 
one of the senators of the College of Justice 
in Scotland, and became the second wife of 
the celebrated Professor Dugald Stewart, 
whom she outlived for many years, having 
died iu July, 1S38, at the age of seventy-one. 



The tears I shed must ever fall ; 

I weep not for an absent swain. 
For time can past delights recall. 

And parted lovers meet again. 
I weep not for the silent dead. 

Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er. 
And those they loved their steps shall tread 

And death shall join, to part no more. 

Though boundless oceans roll between. 

If certain that his heart is near, 
A conscious transport glads the scene, 

Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear. 
E'en when by death's cold hand removed, 

We mourn the tenant of the tomb. 
To think that even in death he loved. 

Can cheer the terrors of the gloom. 

But bitter, bitter is the tear 

Of her who slighted love bewails ; 
No hopes her gloomy prospect cheer. 

No pleasing melancholy hails. 
Hers are the pangs of wounded pride, 

Of blasted hope, and wither'd joy : 
The prop she lean'd on pierced her side, 

"The flame she fed burns to destroy. 

In vain does memory renew 

The scenes once tinged in transport's dye ; 
The sad reverse soon meets the view, 

And turns the thought to agony. 
Even conscious virtue cannot cure 

The pangs to every feeling due ; 
Ungenerous youth, thy boast how poor 

1 o steal a heart, and break it too ? 

N'o cold approach-, no alter' d tnien. 

Just %uhat -would 7nake stispicion start : 
No pause the dire extremes bettveen, — 

He made me blest, a7id broke tiiy heart ; 
Hope from its only anchor torn. 

Neglected, and neglecting all. 
Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn. 

The tears I shed must ever fall. 



DAINTY DAVIE. 

This song, tradition says, and the 
composition itself confirms it, was com- 
posed on the Rev. David Williamson's 
begetting the daughter of Lady Cherry- 
trees with child, while a party of 
dragoons were searching her house to 
apprehend him for being an adherent 
to the solemn league and covenant. 
The pious woman had put a li<dy'3 
nightcap on him, and had laid him 
a-bed with her own daughter, and 
passed him to the soldiery as a lad}'-, 
her daughter's bedfellow. A muti- 
lated stanza or two are to be found in 
Herd's collection, but the original song 
consists of five or six stanzas; and were 
their delicacy equal to their wit and 
humoiur, they would merit a place in 



REMARKS ON SCOTTISH SONG. 



8o9 



any collection. The first stanza is as 
follows: — 

Being pursued by the dragoons, 
Within my bed he was laid down ; 
And weel I wat he was worth his room, 
For he was my dainty Davie. 

Ramsay's song, " Lucky Nansy," 
though he calls it an old song with 
additions, seems to be all his own, ex- 
cept the chorus: 

I was aye teUing you, 
Lucky Nansy, lucky Nansy, 
Auld springs wad ding the new, 
But ye wad never trow me. 

Which I should conjecture to be part 
of a song, prior to the affair of Wil- 
liamson. 

The following is the version of " Lucky 
Nansy," by Ramsay, of which the poet 
speaks : — 

While fops, in soft Italian verse. 
Ilk fair ane's een and breast rehearse. 
While sangs abound, and sense is scarce. 

These lines I have indicted : 
But neither darts nor arrows here, 
Venus nor Cupid shall appear. 
And yet with these fine sounds I swear, 

The maidens are delighted. 

I was aye telling you. 
Lucky Nansy, lucky Nansy, 
Auld springs wad ding the new, 
But ye wad never trow me. 

Nor snaw with crimson will I mix. 
To spread upon my lassie's cheeks, 
And syne th' unmeaning name prefix, 

Miranda, Chloe, Phillis. 
I'll fetch nae smile from Jove 
My height of ecstasy to prove, 
Nor sighing, thus present my love 

With roses eke and lilies. 

I was aye telling you, &c. 

But stay — I had amaist forgot 
My mistress, and my sang to boot, 
And that's an unco faut, I wot: 

But, Nansy, 'tis nae matter. 
Ye see, I clink my verse wi' rhyme, 
And, ken ye, that atones the crime ; 
Forbye, how sweet my numbers chime, 

And slide away like water ! 

I was aye telling you, &c. 

Now ken, my reverend sonsy fair. 
Thy runkled cheeks and lyarl hair. 



Thy haff-shut een and hodling air. 

Are a' my passion's fuel. 
Nae skyring gowk, my dear, can see, 
Or love, or grace, or heaven in thee ; 
Yet thou hast charms enow for me, 

Then smile, and be na cruel. 

Leeze me on thy snawy pow, 
Lucky Nansy, lucky Nansy ; 
Dryest wood will eithest low, 
And, Nansy, sae will ye now. 

Troth I have sung the sang to you, 
Which ne'er anither bard wad do ; 
Hear, then, my charitable vow. 

Dear, venerable Nansy. 
But if the warld my passion wrang. 
And say ye only live in sang. 
Ken, I despise a slandering tongue, 

And sing to please my fancy. 
Leeze me on thy, &c. 



BOB O' DUNBLANE. 

Ramsay, as usual, has modernised 
this song. The original, which I 
learned on the spot from my old hoj;t- 
ess in the principal inn there, is: — 

Lassie, lend me your braw hemp heckle, 
And I'll lend you my thripphn-kame ; 

My heckle is broken, it canna be gotten. 
And we'll gae dance the bob o' Dunblane. 

Twa gaed to the wood, to the wood, to the 
wood, 
Twa gaed to the wood — three came hame ; 
An it be na weel bobbit, weel babbit, wccl 
bobbit. 
An it be na weel bobbit, we'll bob it again. 

I insert this song to introduce the 
following anecdote, which I liavo 
heard well authenticated: — In the 
evening of the day of the battle of 
Dunblane, ( Sheriff -Muir, ) when the 
action was over, a Scots officer in 
Argyle's army observed to his Grace 
that he was afraid the rebels would 
give out to the world that they had 
gotten the victory. — "Weel, weel," 
returned his Grace, alluding to the 
foregoing ballad , " if they think it be 
na weel bobbit, we'll bob it again." 



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